


this love is like sun on the rise

by coykoi



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Just a pinch of angst, Love, Miscommunication, PeterMJ - Freeform, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Weddings, baby don’t hurt me, bartending, flirting so much flirting, maybe more than a pinch, so much love is in the air, views on marriage, well knowing me, what is looove??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coykoi/pseuds/coykoi
Summary: “How do you feel? Are you excited? Nervous? All the above?”“I’m not...nervous or excited. I’m just...I don’t know. Happy. Really happy that it’s finally happening. I feel like we’ve gone through so much and we’ve earned this.”“One-hundred percent. I can’t imagine it going any other way,” Betty says, taking Michelle’s left hand in hers and holds it up in the light.The diamond sitting atop the silver band glints, a stark reminder sitting on Michelle’s finger that she and Peter are partners in every sense of the way.Michelle loves it.Loves him.or: the progression of peter & michelle through weddings
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 170
Kudos: 261





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so this fic was originally going to be a one-shot
> 
> but now that I realize it’s going to be long, it has turned into chapters.
> 
> so here’s the first part! whooo

_i. harry & gwen_

Peter knows that this is the cue to start crying.

The moment when the vows are softly spoken, the rings are exchanged, and the bride and groom share a kiss to commemorate a bond newly formed. It’s blissful and joyous in the way weddings should be, a celebration of two people coming together, of love and partnership and the long future to be had. 

The beauty and emotion is at its peak, and everyone else starts bringing out their handkerchiefs and tissues to wipe their eyes.

“Dude,” Ned whispers in surprise, trying to nudge Peter with his elbow and missing. “I can’t believe you’re not tearing up. I don’t remember the last time you _haven’t_ cried at a wedding. I’m honestly...I’m kinda proud of you.”

The truth nestles its way towards the bottom of his heart, settles there as a reminder that _yes, this is the first wedding he hasn’t cried at_.

Because Peter always cries, always finds himself tearing up before the vows have even finished.

And now, his eyes are dryer than the desert.

“Well, you know I’m an open-book with my emotions, Ned,” Peter replies quietly while not tearing his gaze away from the newlyweds. “But it’s not about me right now.”

It’s about Harry and Gwen, who are standing face-to-face on the altar, looking the happiest he’s ever seen them before. They go in for more than one kiss, and he shouldn’t be surprised. Someone whistles amongst the clapping.

Peter feels an unwelcome bitterness looming over him like a cloud of smoke, tunneling his vision, because all he can see right now is the way his oldest best friend is tenderly kissing his ex-girlfriend.

Of course he’s happy for them.

But it still hurts to watch.

Would hurt even more if he forced himself to let out the tears.

“You’d think they would get a room by now,” Ned comments under his breath, yet still smiling that genuine grin.

“Let them get it out,” he says, feeling like he’s underwater. “We both know how long they’ve waited for this.”

Everything seems a bit muffled.

He doesn’t know if he’s okay.  
  


* * *

  
“Gotta say, Pete, I’m pretty sure that toast you gave was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Harry utters with a shit-eating grin, clapping him a little too forcefully on the back.

“Guess I won’t tell you that I bullshitted through the last half of it, then,” Peter replies, trying for a joking smile, despite the way he’s sore from his head to his heart. He can’t seem to relax, but his brain is telling him to lighten up.

Because it’s all about them.

Harry snorts, mussing up his gelled curls. “I guess I’ll get to pay you back when your turn comes around, huh?”

Peter huffs out a breath. “Who’s to say I won’t ask Ned to do it?”

Which gets an amused scoff that he takes a bit of offense to.

“Yeah, right. Be real, bro. We’re tighter than you and Leeds are. Besides, the best man gets the glory. All of the single ladies here will want you now.”

“Funny. You know I’m not really looking for anything,” Peter says with a half-assed, somewhat sarcastic grin, eyes traveling down and away from his friend. “But, hey, like I said...congrats, man. I’m happy for you.”

Harry smiles, nodding. “That means a lot. I know everything’s been a bit weird between all of us, but Gwen and I appreciate you.”

“I’d hope so, considering that I did write that speech with a whole lot of _sucking up_. Words from the bottom of my heart.”

“I think you mean words pulled from your ass,” he counters, smirking. “But, I digress. Take it easy, Pete. You did good today.”

Did more than just _good_ , Peter thinks as he finds his way back to Ned. 

He’d managed to get through the entirety of his best man duties without making a stupid remark that’d most likely piss someone off. Now _that_ is something to be proud of—exceeding his own expectations of himself.

The pat on the back can wait until he gets home, though.

“Hey, Ned, I was going to—um…” Peter trails off at the sight of his friend’s dinner plate, the way the sausages and bread are in two separate piles. “Why...why are all of your pigs...out of their blankets?”

“Just a personal preference,” Ned says, shrugging. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted anything from the bar,” he says, skeptical, because what kind of personal preference is _that_?

“Resorting to alcohol already?”

Peter smiles wryly. “I’ve lasted this long.”

“Fair enough,” Ned agrees after a moment of consideration. “Yeah, I’ll take some white rum. I’ve never had it before, but it sounds fancy.”

There’s a couple drunkenly stumbling away from the counter when Peter turns towards it, and he silently hopes that he won’t end up in the same condition after allowing himself an alcoholic reprieve.

Only one woman is manning the bar, and she looks to be relatively bored, taking her sweet time to towel-dry a glass that’s already spotless. 

“Um, hi,” he greets, collapsing into one of the bar stools. 

The expression she adopts makes Peter think that she’s mentally preparing herself to hear the third sob story of the night, this time from him. 

Which, fair, but does he really look like that much of a mess?

“Hi,” she replies, her tone bland and bored. “What can I get for you?”

_What did Ned want again?_

“Good question. I...don’t know,” Peter says with an awkward laugh, his fingers tapping sporadically against the counter. 

“Okay. Well, that certainly doesn’t make my job any easier.” Her lips are pressed together in a thin smile. “What are you in the mood for? Something that tastes good or something that’ll wipe your memory clean?”

“Those are mutually exclusive?”

“How about I just make you a strawberry daiquiri and we call it a day,” she offers with a shrug, and he sheepishly chuckles.

“I’ve never had one of those before.”

“Well, Best Man. Prepare to have your mind blown.” There’s a small upwards curve to her lips as she turns around to start making his drink.

The first thing Peter realizes after watching her for not even ten seconds is that she’s exceptionally good at her job, flipping the bottles in her hands like it’s nothing. The way she works makes him think that bartending is actually an art. 

Maybe it’s because he’s just never encountered anyone so skilled at it before—which quite possibly has something to do with him only ever ordering bottled beers.

Once she deposits the strawberry daiquiri in front of him, Peter takes a tentative sip, quickly followed by a larger gulp, because _wow, it’s really good_.

“This is delicious.”

“What did I tell you,” she says, ducking her head as if that’ll hide her pleased expression.

Peter can’t help but smile into his glass. “How much do I owe you?”

“Lucky for you, it’s not your job to pay me. Osborn and Co. already did.” She half-heartedly rolls her eyes, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. 

“Oh. I can still tip, though, right?” 

“You can do whatever you want.”

“That’s a nice sentiment to hear,” Peter says with a quiet laugh and hands over a folded twenty, figuring that she deserves it for working a wedding like this one.

“I’m sure it is.” 

“I’m Peter, by the way,” he offers, wondering if this conversation is casual enough to disclose names. Judging by the way her eyebrow raises, it might not be.

“I don’t make friends with customers.”

_Oh._

Yeah, he’ll just dust off his wounded pride and fake a smile and try not to make this any more awkward—

“Right, no, of course,” Peter says quickly, and he must be doing something wrong because she suddenly snorts and shakes her head.

“I’m just messing with you. You can call me Michelle,” she tells him with a shrug. “Or...my friends call me MJ. I don’t really care.”

“Hi, MJ.”

Michelle looks mildly amused. “Hi, Peter.”

“Thanks for the drink,” he adds with a stupid grin, and she huffs out a little laugh.

“You’re welcome,” she says, pressing her lips together slightly, and then there’s an awkward beat of silence. “Um. Well, shouldn’t you be getting back to the wedding party? I’m sure the bride and groom miss you.”

“Yeah, I bet they’re really missing their third wheel right about now,” Peter snorts derisively, shaking his head. “I’m in no rush to get back to them.”

“Ah. Should’ve known the second you sat down.”

Peter huffs, slurping up the rest of his drink petulantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Michelle merely leans back, mindlessly shining a few more pieces of dishware. She seems so relaxed, and he’s admittedly jealous. “It means that we’re at a wedding reception. Most people who want a drink just take it to go.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know,” she says slowly. “That’s the point. If you wanted to be out there in the crowd, you would be. Instead, you just...sat down and started making small-talk with me.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that,” he mumbles, swirling his melting ice cube around his glass. “Some people like small-talk. I mean, who doesn’t want to hear about weather or sports or...in this case, your fantastic bartending skills?”

“Yes, and I appreciate your flattery, but I also have a job to do.”

Peter frowns and looks around. “There’s no one else at the bar. And, you know, I thought that bartenders were supposed to be good at multitasking.”

“Maybe if you had something important to say, I’d be more inclined to listen,” Michelle tells him in a blunt way that stings just a little, but there’s a challenging look in her eyes as if it’s a dare. She does have a point. 

He’s wasting Michelle’s time, using her as a means of distraction from his own problems.

That’s not fair.

_So don’t use her as a distraction._

_Let her be an outlet._

_If it’s important enough, she’ll listen._

_Someone will finally listen._

“You’re a bartender, so you must hear a lot of stories, right?”

“Customers tend to talk my ear off, yeah,” she agrees, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m used to it.”

Peter smiles sheepishly, averting his eyes to the counter. “Does that mean you would want to hear about why I’d rather be here...alone at the bar, rather than out there, celebrating the marriage of my best friend and my ex-girlfriend?”

Michelle’s cleaning comes to a halt as she looks back at him, a crease between her brows. “While I can’t really blame you for that, I’m sure there are other people who are more well-equipped to talk to you about what’s going on.” 

“I’m not telling you this so you can solve my problems. I just want someone to listen,” he says quietly, meeting her eyes. “Please.”

Michelle’s expression doesn’t give anything away for a minute, but then she nods slowly and slips into the seat across from him. “I’m listening.”

Peter takes a slow breath, kneading his fingers together. “I’m happy for them. I know that they deserve this, but I just...I don’t think I’m happy for myself. Does that make sense?”

“Trust me, it does.”

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know how to feel, which is...stupid.”

“If you could’ve done anything differently, would you?”

“Yeah. I’d probably let Harry have Gwen from the start,” he admits with a small chuckle, shaking his head. “The issue isn’t with them. It’s with me. Maybe I just...I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to be left behind.”

Michelle huffs out a small breath, amused. “Third-wheeling with them sounds more appealing to you?”

“Well, no. It doesn’t, and that’s the problem.”

“It doesn’t sound like a problem. It sounds like you don’t want to be alone,” she says, matter-of-fact, and he doesn’t think she’s wrong. “I hope you know you can control whether or not you’re alone, Peter.”

Peter nods, trying for a smile. “Easier said than done.”

“That’s true, but I’m not here to give you advice,” Michelle reminds him. “I’m listening and I’m telling you how it is.”

“Oh. Right.”

Michelle stands up, brushing her pants off. “Don’t let their wedding bother you. When you find other people to surround yourself with, what you’re feeling right now will be the last thing on your mind. Probably.”

“Love the confidence,” he says with a slight laugh, and her lips quirk upwards. “Thank you, MJ. For listening, I mean. You’re a good listener.”

“I get paid to be a good listener. The drink-making is just on the side,” she responds, deadpan, taking his glass to clean it.

Peter grins, shaking his head. He debates now whether or not to go back to the wedding party, but when he turns around, all he sees are people making their way to the center of the room.

It’s time for the first dance.

Harry and Gwen take center stage.

Their dance is practiced and perfect, blurs of white and black waltzing around the floor.

They look good together.

“I’m supposed to be over there,” Peter says but the words don’t register with him just yet. “To dance with the Maid of Honor.”

Michelle nods as if he just stated the obvious. “Okay? Then go.”

“Do you want to maybe...dance with me after?”

Something flashes behind her eyes, and she lets herself smile just a little. “Distracting me from my job seems to be your niche, huh? I can’t just abandon the bar, Peter. I’m the only one working here.”

“You’re allowed to take a break,” he reasons, feeling an unfamiliar warmth creep up his neck, and she snorts. “But it’s obviously up to you. You’ll know where to find me.”

Peter turns around and starts heading towards the circle, joining the dance with the Maid of Honor—Liz Allan. She’s tall and beautiful and knows exactly what to do, placing her hand in his.

“Not too shabby, Peter,” Liz comments with a smile as he twirls her around the floor. “I was half-expecting you to step on my toes throughout the majority of this, but you’re doing good.”

“My aunt helped me practice,” he admits sheepishly, and her grin only widens. 

“Props to her, then.”

Their dance lasts for a few moments more before they come to a stop, and he releases a slow breath.

Peter is already warm and tired of dancing by the time Gwen approaches with a tentative smile. She asks Liz to cut in, and they agree to switch.

“I think I’ve said this already,” Gwen begins to tell him as she wraps her arms around his neck. What they’re doing isn’t so much dancing as it is swaying, but he finds it so much easier. “But I’m glad you’re here, Peter.”

“I almost passed it up for trivia night at the local bar,” he jokes, and her eyes crinkle as she laughs. The sound is becoming less and less familiar to him, but he thinks that’s okay. 

“Harry would’ve kicked your ass.”

Peter smirks. “I would’ve kicked his right back.”

Gwen presses her lips into a smile. “The brawls never stop.”

“I’m sure they will once we learn to grow up,” Peter says, his hands loosening from their place at her waist. “I’m happy for you guys. Honestly.”

“Thank you, Pete.” She gives him a light kiss on the cheek.

It’s not a goodbye.

But it feels like one. 

And Peter knows now that it’s okay.

Everyone else is starting to crowd around the dance floor now, and Peter turns around, his eyes searching without permission. Instead, his gaze finds Ned, who’s coming towards him with a glass in hand.

“Hey, man. I got my own white rum since, you know. You forgot,” he comments offhandedly, taking an exaggerated sip from the glass and coughs.

“Oh. Yeah, sorry,” Peter apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, uh...you don’t happen to know where Mi—the, um, the bartender is, do you?”

“I’m pretty sure Harry came to talk to her after I got my drink,” Ned says, shrugging. “And I think I saw her leave a little bit after. She probably had to go somewhere, but the bar is still open, so…”

“Oh,” he echoes. “Yeah, no...that—that’s okay.”

There’s a bit of disappointment building up in his throat, but he quickly swallows it with a smile.

Peter knows he needs to try to enjoy the rest of Gwen and Harry’s wedding.

This _is_ about them, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s MJ’s turn to dish out the wedding pov whoop whoop :>

_ii. ned & betty_

“Too tight! Oh, my god, way too tight, MJ,” Betty complains, nearly backhanding Michelle as she tries to tighten the strings of her dress. “Are you trying to suffocate me on my wedding day?”

“You caught me. I’m here to assassinate you and your lineage, Brant,” Michelle deadpans and then curses under her breath as the strings come completely undone once again. 

This isn’t supposed to be her job.

_So why is she doing it, again?_

Because her closest friend is getting married? Because the entirety of the bridal party contracted the stomach flu and she offered to step in? Because it feels like an obligation?

All of the above, maybe.

“Well, you’re doing a pretty shit job at it.”

“Don’t accuse me of trying to kill you and then say I’m not doing a good job,” she replies, blowing a curl out of her face. “I’m trying to get these strings tied, but they’re not cooperating. How would you feel if I just used a stapler?”

Betty screeches. “You’re a terrible Maid of Honor, you know that?”

Michelle rolls her eyes and offers a single shoulder squeeze. “I didn’t, but thanks for pointing it out. You can rate my performance later. Give me a review and all that.”

“Zero out of ten, would not recommend.”

“Bet you wouldn’t know I’ve never been a part of a wedding before,” Michelle adds unnecessarily, if only to add to Betty’s panic just a little. It works, judging by the way her eyes widen. “I’ve only watched and worked.”

“You’re giving me a real confidence boost in your abilities. Love that,” Betty says with a quiet groan. “Can’t you learn to lie? For my sake?”

Michelle quirks her lips, pulling the strings into tight knots while ignoring the complaints. “Impossible. The truth is coming out no matter how much it hurts.”

“Well. I figured, but I thought I’d ask.”

“You know, this actually looks pretty good,” she comments, nodding thoughtfully at the back of the dress. “You might not be able to get it off, but you can worry about that later.”

“Oh, god.”

That’s when a sudden knock on the door interrupts the two of them—thankfully.

Michelle’s date is on the other side, calling through the thin wood paneling. “I don’t mean to rush you two or anything, but the wedding was supposed to start ten minutes ago.”

“Shit,” she mutters under her breath, spinning Betty around to give her one last assessment, making sure everything is in place. “Okay. You know what, you look beautiful enough. It’s time for you to get out there.”

Betty smiles slightly, tilting her head and tucking a curl behind Michelle’s ear in turn. “ _You’re_ supposed to go first, MJ. Take these flowers.”

A bouquet gets placed in her hands, and Michelle merely nods, squeezing the stems in her clammy palms. She turns around and slowly walks out of the dressing room.

The entrance to the main area has its doors wide open and waiting, ribbons draped along the frame and petals scattered on the floor. Soft violin music is floating out, a calming melody.

Taking a deep breath, Michelle takes her first steps onto the aisle. 

Everyone turns to look at her.

It’s overwhelming.

Immediately, she averts her gaze, keeping it locked on the bouquet in her hands, a safe bet. The last thing she wants to do is mess up this wedding by tripping over herself due to nerves.

Nothing has gone smoothly so far, but this has to.

_Where is she supposed to stand again?_

This is the type of thing they supposedly learn at rehearsals, but it’s not so helpful to her due to the last-minute switch.

Well. Michelle figures it shouldn’t matter too much. 

Upon reaching the front, she turns back towards the guests and plasters a thin smile on her face, silently hoping it’s not as see-through as it feels.

Michelle knows she could’ve made it so much easier on herself if she had just kept her head forward, facing the incoming ring bearer and flower girls, but her attention span in a setting like this isn’t the best.

So her eyes wander.

Wander right into the gaze of a familiar face.

Startled, she immediately snaps her attention back to the front.

Because now it’s Betty who’s walking down the aisle in her flowing white dress, lilies scattered throughout her blonde hair. She’s a beautiful contrast to the wood of the venue, light in the midst of dark.

Ned Leeds is a lucky man.

The officiant begins speaking once the couple is standing side-by-side, wearing equally shy smiles that hold volumes of everything unsaid. “Friends and family…”

Michelle listens attentively to the speech that eventually leads to the vows being recited, each and every word laced with meaning, emotion that she can’t even begin to comprehend.

Imagine feeling this kind of love.

The kind that reverberates through your heart and soul, a feeling that goes down and through the bone, something you can’t shake no matter how hard you try. 

The kind that’s selfless and unconditional and impossible to describe because you feel so much so often that it just becomes a part of you.

The kind that leads to a marriage like this, so hopeful and joyous, a ceremony where you celebrate your willingness to spend the rest of your life with the person who shares your heart.

Imagine feeling that.

Michelle can’t. 

But she can be happy for her friends that do.

Ned and Betty finish saying their vows to each other, hands clasped and tears frozen somewhere in between, but they don’t stop smiling. Their happiness is intertwined.

It’s beautiful.

Michelle absently rubs the wetness from her cheek and sneaks a glance away from them, finding herself staring at the familiar Best Man standing to the left instead. His eyes are watery too, lips graced with a soft, fond smile.

When it’s time for the rings, Ned slips Betty’s on first, his voice a whisper that only she can hear.

And then Betty gives Ned his, stepping closer, a watery laugh escaping as the band of silver goes over his finger.

The officiant pronounces them husband and wife. He’s beaming.

“You may now kiss the bride.”  
  


* * *

  
“Just like that. Perfect. On the count of three…”

Michelle lingers by the lamppost, arms crossed, her gaze settled on Betty and Ned as they get their wedding pictures taken. 

They’re a photogenic couple, that’s for sure, but they also can’t seem to get anything done without bursting into laughter.

A few moments pass of Michelle staring and scrutinizing when another voice speaks up from a few feet behind her. It comes out soft, gradually getting softer as the distance between them shrinks until they’re standing side-by-side.

“You’re missing cocktail hour to watch this?”

“They can’t take pictures to save their life,” she says with a quiet chuckle, leaning against the pole. “So, yes. I am missing cocktail hour to watch this.”

It’s Peter that turns to look at her with a small smile.

The very same Peter that had ordered a single drink from her once upon a time, having a story to tell and emotions to let loose in return. 

There’s something in his expression that makes Michelle want to straighten up, but she doesn’t. 

“You know, you weren’t the Maid of Honor I was expecting.”

“No need to sound so disappointed,” Michelle responds with a slight smirk, but his eyes widen as if she offended him.

“No. No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

“I know. I’m just messing with you. There was a last minute switch since something went wrong with the rest of the bridal party.”

“Oh,” he says in quiet realization. “Well, either way. It was a nice surprise to see you. It’s been, what, a year and a half since Gwen and Harry?”

Michelle doesn’t keep track of dates, but the way he says that makes it feel like time has flown by. “Yeah. Wow. I guess it has.”

“So...how have you been? Do you still work weddings?”

“Hey, now. Small-talk? You’re making it seem like we were friends,” she jokes, and he plays into it, grinning slightly.

“You let me call you MJ after I ordered one drink. I took that as meaning we’d be friends forever.”

Hah. _Imagine_.

Michelle merely exhales a small laugh, shaking her head. “To answer your question, no. I don’t work weddings anymore. I still bartend sometimes on the side, but I’m trying for my journalism degree now.”

 _Journalism_ —a career path people won’t scoff at as much when they ask what you do for a living.

Typically, she isn’t one for letting others affect her life choices, but she’s tired of the judgement and the whispers that say how much she could do with that brain of hers, if only she tried.

Bartending isn’t up to their standards.

They want her to do more.

They want her to do better.

And Michelle will, if it’ll get them off her back.

Because she’s so _tired_.

“Oh. That’s cool, too,” he tells her tentatively, and she offers him a wry smile out of obligation. “But who are people supposed to go to for sound advice now that you’re going out of the business?”

Michelle rolls her eyes, releasing a huff of amusement. “I never gave you advice, so I don’t know where you’re getting that idea.”

“You gave me...something, and whatever it was, I took it. Surrounded myself with the right people and even managed to get a new girlfriend. It’s safe to say I’m pretty happy right now,” Peter admits with an honest smile, and his words seem to hold the truth. 

He does look happy.

“That’s great, Peter,” Michelle says sincerely, lips curving up without intention. “I’m glad things worked out for you.”

“Thanks. I hope things work out for you, too, with whatever you decide to do. But—side note. If you end up sticking with bartending, I’d buy a strawberry daiquiri every day. Those are your speciality.”

“That’s the only thing I’ve ever made you.”

“And it was good! Don’t knock yourself.”

“Whatever you say,” she responds with an easier smile.

Peter shifts from one foot to the other as they watch Betty and Ned finish up. “What do you think the chances of us running into each other again were? Like, slim to none, right?”

Michelle snorts. “Coincidences do exist. I think the more relevant question we should be asking is how you ended up being a Best Man two times in a row. Do people just like you too much?”

Peter looks at her and grins, a soft, teasing thing. “Yeah, that must be it.”  
  


* * *

  
Michelle observes Betty and Ned as they feed each other pieces of cake, wondering in the back of her mind if they’re ever going to grow out of the honeymoon phase. 

They don’t seem the type that would.

“Imagine if that were us,” her date comments under his breath with a brief smile, like it’s something he’s been thinking about.

Michelle has to refrain from rolling her eyes at the thought, feeling a deep regret at bringing him as her plus-one.

“It won’t be.”

Brad furrows his eyebrows, conflicted. “Why not? We’ve been on a few dates already. You keep coming back, so why can’t that be us?”

“Just because I come back doesn’t mean I want to marry you,” she replies with a blunt honesty, confused as to why he would think so. “We’ve been on _three_ dates, Davis.”

“Isn’t there this thing called love at first sight?” He’s frowning, jaw ticked.

“I’m sorry, but love at first sight isn’t love,” Michelle says with a quiet sigh, rubbing the side of her brow. “And I don’t understand where people get that idea. If you feel like explaining it to me...” 

“No, I’m—I’m not saying I believe in it,” Brad stammers after hearing her dull tone, scratching the back of his ear. “All I’m saying is...sometimes, you just know.”

Michelle presses her lips together, because _no_ , it just doesn’t work that way. 

But there isn’t any point in saying that, knowing the conversation will only lead them in circles.

“Hey, can we have everyone’s attention?” Ned stands up from his seat, tapping the glass in front of him with a spoon. “So, um. We’re going to be doing the first dance now, but we’d like to invite our parents as well as the Best Man and Maid of Honor—”

“Because we don’t want to embarrass ourselves alone,” Betty adds with a sweet smile.

Michelle lets that information sink in for a second or two before getting up, preparing to retreat into the restroom.

But she doesn’t even make it halfway there before a certain someone steps in front of her with a raised brow and a grin playing on his lips.

“Oh, hell no. You’re not getting out of _another_ dance with me.”

“Need I remind you that I wasn’t originally supposed to be here? Which means no rehearsal. No practice. No dancing.”

“Come on, MJ. I’ll lead. You’ll do great,” Peter coaxes with a gentle voice, tugging her back towards the center of the room. “And, besides, Ned and Betty are pulling us specifically because they can’t dance either.”

Michelle absentmindedly touches the spot where their skin came into contact, brows furrowed. “Can’t you find someone else?”

Peter hesitates, a small frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I mean, I probably could if that’s what you really want.”

What _does_ she want?

That feels like a loaded question, despite it being as simple as can be.

But Michelle’s brain is muddled, and she can’t think straight for some reason. This is about dancing, only dancing, but instead, she deflects, turns it around—turns it into something it shouldn’t be. 

“Well, what do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I want to dance with you,” he says with a slight laugh, ducking his head. “But it’s your decision. Don’t do it just to please me.”

_Don’t do it just to please me._

Michelle wishes she heard that more often.

“You know what, fuck it,” she mutters and raises his hand into position, taking note of the way his eyes light up. “Yeah, let’s dance, Peter.”

Peter grins, placing an arm around her shoulder blade. “You sure?”

“We’re already here.”

“We are,” he agrees, something indistinguishable in his eyes as he edges closer just a bit. The musicians in the background are preparing their instruments, the newlyweds giving them a signal. “Follow my lead.”

They start off slow, an uncomplicated waltz around the dance floor that Michelle picks up without much issue. She finds that it’s easier to dance without looking around at everyone else, just keeping her gaze locked on Peter.

“You always know how to dance like this?”

“Definitely not,” Peter says with a quiet laugh. “My aunt always has to re-teach me each time I go to a wedding.”

Michelle’s lips curve into a small smile. “I can only imagine where you’d be without her.”

“No doubt dancing the same way Ned and Betty are.”

Ned and Betty, the CEOs of stumbling through their dance moves and cracking up along the way. At least they’re having a good time, which is the important thing.

“I don’t think we’re doing half-bad,” Michelle comments, considering the lack of practice that she’s had. It’s commendable, managing not to trip within the first few seconds, even though she’s wearing flats rather than heels.

“We’re doing great,” Peter says with an undertone of encouragement.

But then he gets it in his head that she’s ready for more than what they’re already doing, spinning Michelle out of his arms and then pulling her back. The action makes her breathless.

“Peter—”

He merely smiles at Michelle in return and doesn’t give her a chance to finish, because the next thing she knows, she’s being dipped.

Michelle’s curls brush against the tiled floor as she hangs on for a lingering moment, feeling Peter’s brown eyes bore into her. Deep down, she trusts him to not let go.

Once the instrumental music slows to a stop in the background, Peter helps her straighten up, hands lingering at her waist before dropping.

“I’ve always wanted to do that...the whole spin-and-dip move,” he admits with a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

Michelle raises an eyebrow. “Did your aunt teach you that one, too?”

Peter sheepishly grins. “YouTube, actually.”

“Well, that sure makes me feel better,” she replies, deadpan. “Maybe next time, a warning would be nice?”

“Next time? Did my moves exceed your expectations so much that you’d want to dance with me again?”

Michelle snorts out an honest laugh, managing a smile at him, and he bumps her shoulder. 

But then another voice speaks up, calling her name, and she turns around to see Brad standing a few feet away with his jacket in one hand. There’s a tentative look on his face.

“Hey. There’s, uh, something I’d like to talk to you about real quick,” Brad says. She’s about to nod, suggest they go somewhere else, but he doesn’t give her the chance. “It won’t take long. I just...I was thinking about what you said earlier. Your views on love and everything.”

Michelle frowns. “What about them?”

“We don’t share the same opinion on anything, MJ. That’s the truth, and...I don’t think what little semblance we have to a relationship is going to work.”

“Okay...?”

Brad continues on, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m clearly more invested in this than you are. Maybe I feel too much, or you feel too little—I don’t know. I just don’t want to waste my time here. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” she says with a nod, because he wasn’t the only one thinking that things weren’t going to go anywhere between them. 

“So...good luck with life, MJ. Maybe I’ll catch you around sometime,” he tells her, despite the pretense of knowing they’ll never see each other again. 

Brad offers her one last wry smile before walking away, out of the reception, out of her life.

It feels like a weight lifted off her shoulders, the pressure of what little they had in common leaving with him.

Peter, however, seems dumbstruck after watching the whole exchange. His mouth opens and closes again, blinking at her owlishly.

“Um. I’m sorry, wait. Did you guys just break up?”

“We were never dating,” Michelle clarifies, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Oh,” he mumbles, bobbing his head up and down, a hesitant look on his face. “But still...are you okay?”

Michelle doesn’t have to think long or hard about her answer, merely responding with a small smile and a, “Yeah. I’m good. But...thanks for asking, anyway.”

Peter returns the expression with exceeding softness. “Of course. I wasn’t lying when I said we were friends.”

“Well. If you say so,” she says, rubbing one hand up and down her arm, wanting to get away from his gentle eyes and empathetic smile. “You know what, do they have a bar here?”

Peter blinks. “I think so. Ned said he was going to go for an open one, so I’m assuming…”

Even better.

Michelle starts walking away in search of the bar, finding that it’s strategically located next to the restrooms. She settles in behind the counter like it’s an old habit and starts pulling out bottles of alcohol.

“You want something?” She looks up at Peter, who followed her over. He presses his lips into a small grin and pretends to think. “Actually, never mind. I’m not even getting paid for this.”

“Wait, wait, no. I’ll seriously pay you for a strawberry daiquiri,” he blurts out, and she has to snort.

“No.”

“Please? I’m really craving one actually—”

Michelle gives him a look. “I meant, no. You don’t have to pay for it. That was a joke.” 

“Oh. Okay, cool,” Peter exhales with a little laugh, sitting down on one of the stools. “I’d totally pay you, though. Because you’re some sort of...bartending goddess. You must have a magic touch or something.”

“I’m not an ethereal being. Nor do I have magic powers.” She hesitates, considering her next words thoughtfully. “I’m just that good. What can I say?”

Peter nods slowly, brows furrowed. “If you think that, then why are you going for journalism? I’d say just stick with what you like, and you like _this_ , right?”

“It’s not that simple,” Michelle says, handing him his finished drink. 

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Yes, it _is_ ,” he groans with emphasis, taking a long sip from his daiquiri. “What, you think you’d do better in journalism? You think you’d like it more?”

Michelle shakes her head, making herself a blueberry mojito. “I don’t know. It’s not really about me.”

Peter stares at her in disbelief as if she were spewing bullshit in his face. “That makes no sense. It’s your job—of course it’s about you.”

“Wow, you’re one-hundred percent right. Yeah, forget I said anything,” she says, sardonic, scowling into her drink. This is the last thing she wanted to talk about tonight.

“MJ—”

Michelle interrupts Peter by flipping the conversation towards him, hoping that it’ll tone down her sarcasm just a little, but the joke’s on her. “Well, what do you do for a living?”

Peter’s lips part in surprise at the question, and it takes him a while to get out the answer. “Uh, I’m an engineer at Stark Industries.”

“Wow.” She doesn’t bother hiding her quiet scoff, resorting to stirring her drink that’s already nearing empty. “People must love hearing that you work at a multi-billion dollar company. Really screams _successful_ , huh?”

Peter narrows his eyes.

Clearly, she isn’t doing a very good job at keeping her bitterness at bay.

“Is that what this is about? Being successful?”

“No.”

Peter looks exasperated, but he keeps pushing for some annoying unknown reason. “Then—god, Michelle, what the hell is it?”

Michelle slams her glass on the counter, grateful for the dimmer lights to hide the way her face is heating up from mild embarrassment. “Maybe I’m just tired of everyone undermining the validity of my career.”

There’s a moment of pause where he just soaks up the meaning of her words, brows furrowing.

“People...do that?”

“Yes, Peter. This is the real world where everyone constantly likes to push their opinions in your face,” she says, rubbing her temple. 

“Well, don’t—you don’t have to listen to them,” he points out weakly, as if she hadn’t thought of that a hundred times before. 

“That’s what I said to myself for a year. But, you know, it gets hard to ignore your family and your family’s friends and anyone that ever shows up at a reunion, asking if you’ve gotten a new job yet.”

“Oh.” Peter looks like he’s at a loss for words.

“You wanted to know.”

“Yeah, but...I just didn’t expect…”

Michelle merely shrugs and goes to make herself another drink, figuring she shouldn’t let her skills nor her sober mind go to waste. Though, when she turns around, she finds Peter scribbling something on a napkin.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing down my phone number.” Which he then balls up and throws in her face ineloquently. “It’s for you.”

Her expression remains blank. “Why?”

“Because we’re going to figure something out together. Because we’re not going to have enough time to brainstorm tonight.” He pauses and then smiles sheepishly at her. “And, you know. Because we’re friends.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she utters, blinking slowly, trying to comprehend everything he just said. “For the, uh, nice sentiment. And...the support.”

“Bartenders deserve to be appreciated. Especially the ones who are really good at their jobs.”

Michelle doesn’t bother fighting the small smile that creeps up on her face. “Okay, dork. Don’t blow my ego too much.”

Peter merely grins. “Who said I was talking about you?”

“What was it you told me earlier? That I’m some sort of... _bartending goddess_? Check yourself, Pete,” she hums, and he snorts out undignified laughter. It’s a nice sound to hear.

“O-kay, MJ. Way to quote me on that,” he says and then pauses, taking a quick glance behind his shoulder at the change of music. “Hey, they’re doing the Macarena. Do you wanna?”

Michelle hesitates.

But eventually breaks into a slight smirk.

“Hell, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> real world problems am i right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me just say — this chapter was my favorite to write and I have a lot to say about it
> 
> aaahhh!

_iii. abe & cindy_

“No, no, we’re both...what’s that expression? Single and ready to mingle?”

“Please never say that again.”

“Come on, Em. Get with the times,” Peter jokes, breaking into an easy smile as he fiddles with his tie in front of the mirror. He can see her in the background, sitting on his bed with crossed legs, the fabric of her lavender dress spilling to the floor.

Michelle merely gives him a blatant, unimpressed once-over, eyes narrowing. Even still, he feels a rush of warmth creep up the back of his neck, a flutter in his chest, something he’s grown familiar with around her.

But he continues to hold onto the notion that those sensations don’t mean anything, because why would they? 

They’re nothing new, nothing special. 

Peter feels the butterflies now, the same ones he’s always felt around her, even throughout the entirety of his short-lived relationships with both Felicia and Johnny—people he _really_ liked—so it wouldn’t make sense for them to mean anything.

Unfortunately, neither Felicia nor Johnny had worked out. He wanted something that would last, but the couple months he had with each of them weren’t anywhere close to forever.

Michelle was there for both of the break-ups. She let him cry it out and consoled him with a feeble ‘ _there, there_ ’, but there were complaints of him getting snot on her favorite hoodie afterwards.

But—she did join him on his Star Wars movie marathon, despite her earlier claim of it being cinematic space trash, so that counts for something.

And Peter just appreciates her, hopes that Michelle will stay in his life longer than the people who keep walking out. 

“We technically weren’t even invited, which bears me repeating...why do you want to go so badly?”

“For fun?”

“Try again.”

“Because it’s a good...social experiment?”

“Not good enough.”

Peter twists his head to look at her, lips folding into a crooked smile. “Um. We could pretend we’re in that—that one movie? _Wedding Crashers_?”

Michelle’s deadpan expression takes over once again. “Well, I sincerely hope it’s not like that movie. Neither of us are trying to get hitched with a bridesmaid, now.” She pauses, thoughtful. “Or, maybe you are?”

“Oh, my god, no! Nope. Not me,” he blurts out with an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, and she has the gall to look amused. “What’s so funny?”

“You, Parker. Always you,” Michelle says with a shake of her head, and they both share half of the same smile. She stands up and slips her heels on, which gives her an extra four inches on him. 

Peter feels like a dignified shrimp.

“Come on, MJ. You can’t tell me that you’ve never wanted to crash a wedding before,” he jokes, receiving an eye-roll in return. 

“If this is the epitome of your bucket list, then I really feel bad for you.” 

“You have no idea what’s on my bucket list,” Peter huffs, following her out of his bedroom, out of the apartment he lives in. “Do you want to drive or can I?”

“You can’t drive for shit, Peter.”

“Says the one who just crashed her car the other day.”

“First of all, it wasn’t completely my fault. And second, I didn’t even get hurt.”

_No, she didn’t get hurt._

That was the only thing that kept him from leaving work immediately, but worry still swallowed him up for the rest of the day. 

Peter hated that feeling, the uncertainty that came with not getting to see that she was okay with his own eyes, and he told Michelle that to her face.

Would one-hundred percent remind her again.

“Your Jeep, on the other hand,” he prompts instead, expecting another eye-roll from her, but Michelle manages to look slightly sheepish, pressing her lips together.

“Fine. We’re both horrible drivers,” she admits reluctantly. “So we’re just going to take a cab.”

Peter cracks a smile as Michelle flags down a taxi. “That’s fine with me. It just means I can drink more since we don’t need a designated driver. I mean, I’m assuming this wedding is going to have alcohol.”

“Do you even know whose wedding it is?”

“I didn’t really check, but who cares?” He quickly recites the address once they climb in—the one that was on the invitation meant for his neighbor but slid under Peter’s door instead. “Not knowing is half the fun.”

Michelle blinks at him, skeptical, but she doesn’t push on the matter. 

How Peter managed to get her to come with him, he has no idea.

Maybe weddings are just their thing.

“Your shirt is wrinkled, by the way,” Michelle offhandedly points out after a beat of comfortable silence, not even looking at him. But, somehow, she’s right. He really doesn’t know how to iron properly.

“Why would you tell me that? Now it’s going to bother me all night,” he says with a soft groan, and she glances at him. Smiles with a hint of humor. “Stop that.”

Her expression turns innocent. “Stop what?”

“You _know_ what,” Peter mumbles, cheeks flushing, even though he’s not sure if she does. He might not even know himself.

Michelle merely quirks her lips, curls loose and framing her face, ears dotted with studs that he gave her as a birthday present. She looks beautiful.

Maybe he’s the one who needs to stop.

_Damn butterflies._

“We’re here,” the cabbie speaks up, pulling into an outdoor venue set with flowers and banners and a wedding archway.

Peter quickly hands him his pay plus tip and then nearly flings himself out of the car, door closing a little too hard. He wipes his clammy palms against his pants, which will probably get just as wrinkled as his shirt.

“Wait a minute,” Michelle says out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Abe and Cindy?” She squints at the banner hanging above the entrance. “I went to high school with them. We were on the decathlon team together.”

Peter twists his head to look at her, smiling a little. “So you guys were friends?”

“Acquaintances at best,” Michelle responds and doesn’t offer anything more, already shuffling to the row of seats in the very back. He follows her and sits down, feeling a dumb rush of adrenaline at what they’ve just done.

Successfully crash a wedding?

Check.

“There are a lot of people here,” he comments, watching the guests that are filing in next to them. His gaze travels to a pretty blonde that’s sitting in the row in front of them, but it doesn’t linger.

Imagine if he just happened to find the love of his life here at a stranger’s wedding.

_Hah._

“Not everyone only has two friends like you do,” she jokes, and Peter smiles, nudging her with his elbow gently.

“Hey, you know what, you should feel honored to be one of the two.”

Michelle merely rolls her eyes, lips twitching in amusement. “You’re not a very picky person.”

“On the contrary, I just have good taste,” Peter says, honesty dripping from his words, and maybe it’s just the light, but he could swear that her cheeks tinge pink just a little. “Um. See, aren’t you glad that you decided to come with me? Because you can watch old...acquaintances get married?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not jumping with joy to watch people I used to know become husband and wife,” she says, kneading her hands together. “I didn’t come for them.”

Peter smirks, a teasing thing. “Then who did you come for?”

“You,” is her blunt answer, serious, and he briefly wonders if she could hear the way his heart stumbled. Face-planted, even.

“Me,” he echoes, feeling everything again at once, and needs help reminding himself that it all means nothing.

Michelle does a good job at that. Reminding him.

“Yeah.” She gnaws on her lower lip, not looking at him. “You were talking about how you needed a new wingman the other day, so. I’ve got you covered, loser. You’re welcome.”

“Oh. I mean, yeah. Single and ready to mingle, right?” Peter gives her a wry smile, and she mirrors it.

“Of course.”  
  


* * *

  
“So, another bar contacted me last night,” Michelle eventually prompts after dipping her sixth cherry into the chocolate fountain. She’s gathering a pile of uneaten fruit on her plate. “They just started up their business. Need some recognition.”

“And you’re going to write about them in your section of the journal?”

Michelle quirks her lips, playing around with the stem of her cherry. “Hell, yeah, I am. I didn’t get this degree for nothing.”

Peter breaks into a wide, honest smile, because _fuck_ , he’s proud of her.

Proud that she’s worked her way up from being pressured into a different career path to shaping it the way she wants. Proud that she’s taking no shit from any of her family members about it.

Writing articles in journals and papers about bars that are new or failing or just need a little boost is what Michelle takes on, trying to use her skills to bring business to them.

And she has enough time to bartend on the side, which Peter feels is the best part because Michelle has only gotten better at serving drinks.

No, he’s not biased.

“You definitely didn’t,” he agrees, lifting the strawberry daiquiri she made him earlier in toast to that.

Michelle huffs out a small, amused breath as her gaze darts around the reception, full of guests that they don’t know. The two of them are just hovering by the table of food, trying to avoid confrontation from anyone and everyone.

“They’re cutting the cake now,” she observes, nodding her head to the table in the middle of the banquet hall, a towering wedding cake sitting atop it. 

Peter smiles. “I like it when couples feed it to each other.”

“I like it when couples shove it in each other’s faces.”

“Of course you do,” he says with a quiet laugh, and she quirks a brow.

“You implying something, Parker?”

“That I’m the romantic one and you’re the chaotic one,” Peter replies innocently, and she snorts, nudging his shoulder lightly. “See, they’re feeding each other. It’s so cute.”

Michelle rolls her eyes, leaning back against the wall with crossed arms. “I’d rather not be babied with my food.”

“Oh? I’ll keep that in mind.” He hesitates, cheeks flushing, wondering if that came out the way he meant it to. “Not that...I, uh, I’m going to be feeding you or anything. I just—you know, for future reference—”

“I got it, loser.”

Peter’s smile comes out slightly awkward, and he turns away from her, back towards the newlyweds who are still devouring the cake.

But then Cindy tilts and turns her head in their direction, eyes narrowing. She nudges Abe, whispering something to him, and Peter can feel a flit of panic shoot through him.

What if they were spotted?

They’d probably be yelled at, probably be kicked out.

Wedding crashers—more like wedding _ruiners_.

Not thinking, his mind muddled with possible consequences, Peter backs up just a bit—as if that’ll help any—and accidentally bumps into the table of food with too much force.

Bad move.

Michelle was closer, had faster reflexes than him in that moment, and she immediately reaches out.

Catches the fountain that was about to fall over.

But now her dress and skin and hair is splattered with chocolate.

“Oh—shit, Em, I’m so sorry. That was an accident, I swear,” Peter immediately babbles, piling napkins in his arms to soak up the liquid mess. She opens her mouth to say something, but he can’t seem to keep quiet. “I—I thought I saw...I mean, I thought they saw us…”

“Well, if they didn’t see us before, they do now,” Michelle sighs, brushing chocolate off of her brow. “Peter—”

“God, I’m so sorry,” he repeats quietly, bringing his hand up to wipe away the chocolate droplets scattered across her collarbone without thinking twice. “Your dress is...ruined.”

Michelle grasps his wrist to stop him, eyes gentle as if he’s the one who needs soothed. “Relax. I’ve been taught how to get stains like these out.”

Peter swallows thickly and nods, wondering with half a mind if she realizes that they’re so close. He can smell the sweetness radiating off of her, can see chocolate on her lip and knows that it would be so easy to banish it with a swipe of his tongue.

“MJ,” he whispers, wetting his lips. She’s still holding onto his hand, breathing stuttered, and he imagines what it would be like to not think and just _do_.

But Michelle always thinks. Never turns her brain off.

“I—I, uh...I’m going to clean myself up in the bathroom,” she mutters, pulling away from him completely, and nothing about her expression is readable. “And I’ll mop up over here after I’m done.”

Peter tries for a feeble smile, composing himself, having no idea what just came over him. This is Michelle, his best friend.

The butterflies aren’t supposed to mean anything. _They’re just not_.

In that moment, he’s glad she has enough common sense for the two of them.

“Hey, I made the mess. The least I can do is help—”

“No,” she interrupts, firm with speckles of uncertainty. “No. That’s okay. I got it, Parker.”

“What? Come on, MJ, I know how to use a mop,” Peter says with a small, awkward laugh, confused and unable to get his mind to stop swimming through uncharted emotions.

“Look. I really don’t need your help,” Michelle says, exhaling a harsh breath, and he blinks, slightly taken aback. She’s not angry—he’s never seen her truly angry before—but she’s not happy.

“I...I said I was sorry, and I am,” he mumbles, searching her expression as it softens, but he still has the feeling that there’s a missing piece of information.

“I know.” She offers Peter a half-smile before glancing behind him. “Listen. There’s a girl who’s been eyeing you the whole time we’ve been standing here. I’m aware that not letting you know equates to bad wingman-ing, but I’m telling you now. Go talk to her.”

Peter twists his head to look, sees that it’s the same blonde that sat in front of them during the ceremony. “Are you sure?”

Her smile shrinks, but she nods. “Single and ready to mingle, right?”

“Right. Yeah,” he says, voice quiet and not carrying as Michelle is already walking away from him.

_Dying butterflies._  
  


* * *

  
Peter learns that her name is Lily Hollister.

He finds out that she coincidentally works in the labs at Oscorp under Norman and had even been friends with Harry once upon a time. 

Small world, huh?

She tells him about her new puppy named Menace, tells him briefly about her family and that she likes reading about world records for fun—which is interesting and definitely a fact that Peter would tuck in the back of his mind if he thought this would go any further.

But there’s a point when he stops listening, and it’s not that he means to—would never _intentionally_ ignore someone, especially not someone he just met.

It’s just that out of the corner of his eye, Peter can see Michelle returning from the restroom, accompanied by the bride herself. They’re talking quietly and cleaning up the mess he made, and he wishes he was over there.

“Peter?”

“Sorry,” he says, snapping back to attention with an apologetic smile. “I just—I’m a bit distracted today, I guess.”

Lily shrugs, lips twisting into a minuscule smile. “Don’t worry about it. I noticed you knock over the chocolate fountain earlier, so…”

Peter laughs slightly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I really don’t know what the hell is up with me. Not that I’m _not_ clumsy all the time. I am. Just ask…”

“Your friend over there, huh?”

“Yep. Just ask her. My friend…”

“She’s really pretty,” Lily comments thoughtfully.

“I know, right?”

“Is she single?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbles without much thought put into the question but then pauses, raising one eyebrow. “I’m sorry, are you implying that you’d rather be flirting with her instead?”

“Equal ground between you and her, I’d say. I’m not picky,” she responds with half a shrug and a wry smile. “But you came over first.”

“I did,” he says quietly. His mind is still trying to register the prospect of Michelle coming over here, of her suddenly being off the market because she would one-hundred percent really like Lily. 

His stomach twists uncomfortably.

Peter doesn’t want to think too much into it, despite the message being clear with the way his subconscious is screaming.

Lily offers him a smile of condolence, as if his emotions are too spread out across his face. 

“Do you want to dance, Peter?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Peter agrees, taking her by the hand to the dance floor where other couples have already gathered. It’s a good thing that she knows her way around a waltz, because he’s completely forgotten.

Their song is short-lived, and he’s in the midst of debating if they should keep dancing when another voice speaks up.

“Do you mind if I cut in?”

Peter swallows thickly, turns his head to see Michelle standing there without her shoes on and damp curls draped over her shoulders. 

“Of course,” Lily says with a smile, shooting Peter one last cursory glance. “Good luck.”

No clarification on that.

But he can guess what she’s referring to.

Peter really is an open-book.

“So,” Michelle prompts with a weighted expression, lips curved only slightly. “How did it go with her?”

“I guess I really wasn’t in the mood to mingle,” he replies quietly, moving his arms down so that they’re wrapped around her waist. “May didn’t re-teach me how to dance this time, so if you don’t mind...”

Michelle’s eyes tinge with amusement as she tentatively wraps her arms around his neck. “You seemed to be doing just fine earlier.”

“I know. But I’d rather sway.”

_With you._

Peter can’t bring himself to look her in the face. He knows what this dance means, what everything means, and he knows that he’s on the cusp between denial and acceptance.

Michelle is his best friend.

He loves being around her.

Cares about her.

Doesn’t want to lose her.

Those butterflies really aren’t so meaningless.

No wonder his past relationships didn’t work out.

Michelle is his best friend and _more_.

Maybe it’s worth taking the risk.

_But what if it’s not?_

He doesn’t know.

Or it could just be that he’s scared.

 ~~Probably~~ Definitely the latter.

“Peter,” Michelle says loudly, and he whips his head up to see her staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Have you been daydreaming this whole time? Or do my words just go in one ear and out the other?”

“Maybe,” he responds, blinking. “Sorry. I’m just—I’m trying to figure out how you got all the chocolate out of your dress?”

Michelle rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Magic and a little help from Cindy.”

Peter sighs in content, resting his head against her. “I knew you were magical.”

“Your hair is getting in my mouth.”

“I don’t care.”

“God—how much gel do you _use_?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to never find out,” Peter says, lifting his head just enough to see her deadpan expression.

Michelle sucks in her cheeks before placing a hand on his forehead, and he assumes this is so she can push him away, but she freezes instead, lips twitching and eyes softening.

Peter wonders if it’s hot in here or if it’s just him—wonders if she can see the blood rushing to his face.

They’ve stopped swaying. They’re just in the way now.

Her hand escapes from his forehead into his hair, and Peter meets her gaze, sees a storm of uncharted emotions. He wants to drown in them.

Michelle swallows thickly, looking down, and he can feel her tensing up as if preparing to pull away—as if she wants it to end the same as their earlier encounter. He knows that if that happens again without him getting a say in it, he’s going to kick himself.

Peter wants her.

Wants to _kiss_ her.

So he does just that.

Slowly tilts her chin down just a bit so that their lips meet in the middle, warm and pliant and sweet.

The butterflies that live in his chest suddenly erupt into his head, his heart, and his vision is swimming in color and darkness and Michelle. He folds her closer in his arms, and she doesn’t resist, fingers tightening in his hair.

Michelle is the first to pull away, a dazed look in her eyes, and she offers him a smile he’s never seen before. Shy, uncertain, maybe even hopeful.

“You kissed me?”

“That’s what that was?” He can’t seem to restrain his nervous laughter.

“You tell me,” she responds, folding her lips together. “Was that you kissing me or were you just…”

“Please don’t finish that question because _yes_ , that was me kissing you. That was me taking a risk, and this is me right now—really hoping that I made the right decision,” Peter babbles, positive that he’s going to go insane if he doesn’t get some clarification on where they stand.

Thankfully, Michelle gives it to him.

Seals his hope with another soft kiss.

“I think you did make the right decision,” Michelle says with a small smile, tucking a strand of curls behind her ear.

“I really like you,” Peter admits with a little laugh, ducking his head. “ _More_ than like you, actually. But, you know. I can tell you all about it later.”

“I more than like you, too. I probably won’t tell you all about it, but you’ll definitely be able to figure it out yourself,” she utters.

Peter grins, nodding, feeling the butterflies settle back into their home inside his heart. “Awesome.”

“Awesome.”

“Do you, uh—do you want to dance again?” He jabs his thumb behind him where couples of over fifty years are slow-dancing together. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

“I don’t have shoes on, so you better not.”

Peter smiles, takes Michelle by the hand to the middle of the floor and wraps her up in the slowest slow-dance ever done. He wants to cherish it, remember it.

_Imagine if he just happened to find the love of his life here at a stranger’s wedding?_

He sure hopes that's what this is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and yet we still have three more chapters hmmmm..
> 
> :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter happened. :> don’t mind my screaming

_iv. tony & pepper_

Michelle is a little confused.

“What is this for?”

“It’s an invitation,” Peter tells her with his lips pressed into a small smile, rocking on his heels as if he’s nervous, hands twisted behind his back. “For you, obviously.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Michelle says with a roll of her eyes, turning the invitation over in her hands. It’s sealed and signed, using fancy scrawl that she can barely read. “Really, Peter...why are you giving me this?”

Peter’s eyes bore into hers, always a gentle brown that makes her heart calm. “I was hoping you would want to come. I want to introduce you…”

“No, thanks.”

“Seriously? You haven’t even—”

“I don’t need to think it over.”

“Come on, Em. Be fair,” he mumbles petulantly, and she breaks into a small smile, already having an arsenal loaded up for her argument.

“I think the fact that it’s clear Stark ghostwrote these invitations backs up my sentiment fairly well,” Michelle says with a shake of her head. “Because I can hardly believe that Pepper Potts would request mandatory gifts for a _wedding vow renewal_ party. Glorified marriage anniversary, if you will.”

Peter winces slightly. “If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure Tony considers compliments a gift.”

Michelle snorts, shaking her head. “He’s got enough people kissing his ass, including you. I refuse to become one of them.”

“What? I _don’t_ kiss his ass,” he huffs, poking her shoulder. “He’s my boss, and I’m just his favorite employee. His words, not mine.”

“Sorry. My bad. Stark is kissing _your_ ass.”

“Maybe he is. This is going to be a private celebration, but he said I could bring a plus-one.” Peter gives her a sweet look that makes her stomach churn. “I want to bring you.”

“You know how I feel about Stark.”

“You haven’t even met him.”

“Don’t need to. Don’t care,” she simply says, but her boyfriend is nothing if not stubborn. They have that in common, at least.

“I’ve talked about you for a long time, so he’s already a big fan,” he insists, and she has to stifle the small smile threatening to break out.

“Good for him.”

Peter grabs her hands, swinging them with his. “MJ, please? This is, like, the tenth wedding anniversary. It’s a big deal, you know? So I have to go, and I really want you to come.”

Michelle sighs and considers the pros and cons.

Pro: Pepper Potts will be there.

Con: Tony Stark will be there.

The pro eventually outweighs the con in her mind.

“Fine,” she concedes reluctantly, and Peter whoops, the absolute dork that he is.

Even goes so far as to pick her up off the floor and attempts to spin them in a circle, except Michelle’s taller than him so her feet drag. She’ll give him a B for effort, at least.

“I owe you,” Peter whispers with a secretive grin after letting her go, tucking a curl behind her ear. She thinks that maybe the decision was worth it to see him smile like this.

Five months of dating Peter Parker, and he’s infected her with his romanticism so fast that it’s not even funny. This is where they’re at.

But Michelle isn’t anywhere close to mad.

“You sure do, buddy. And, side-note, we’re not bringing a gift.”

“Your presence is a gift enough,” he says with a teasing lilt, trailing kisses up her neck and alongside her jaw before nibbling her earlobe. She hums quietly and doesn’t hesitate to pinch the skin around his elbow, eliciting a surprised yelp. “Hey!”

“ _Commit_ , loser,” Michelle utters, and he breaks into a smile before leaning up, pressing his lips squarely against hers.

 _Yeah. She’s been getting used to this._  
  


* * *

  
“Your hands are kind of sweaty,” Peter comments absently as he continues to trace patterns on the back of her palm with his thumb, occasionally brushing her knuckles. “Are you nervous?”

Michelle frowns indignantly. “Why would I be nervous?”

“I mean, it’s okay if you are—”

“I’m not nervous,” she immediately clarifies with a huff, feeling slightly defensive. “It’s not like I’m looking for approval from your boss or anything.”

There’s absolutely no reason for her to be nervous.

Michelle has already met the only person whose approval she ever could’ve wanted in Peter’s life a long time ago, and that was his aunt. To be nervous then was fair, but now? 

No. This is just Tony Stark.

Not that she wants to make a bad impression either.

But. She’s not nervous.

“Okay. If you say so,” Peter hums, and it sounds like he’s teasing her. “Hey, Happy? How much longer until we get there?”

“Figure it out yourself, math whiz,” Happy responds with a grumble from the front, receiving a petulant pout in return. 

Michelle flat-out respects Happy, considering he simultaneously puts up with both Tony _and_ Peter. Not only that, but he’s also got a summer fling going on with May, which means he obviously has good taste.

“I don’t even know where this place is—”

“You don’t know where we’re going?”

Peter fidgets. “I mean, I glanced at the invitation, but I couldn’t really read Pepper’s handwriting.”

“Montauk Point. They wanted to have the celebration on the beach and the ceremony on top of the lighthouse,” Happy says, flicking on his right turn signal. “Hope you two like sand and salt.”

Michelle doesn’t. Heights aren’t for her either, but she’ll suck it up.

“We’ll still have a good time,” Peter murmurs in her ear, as if he can hear her thoughts or read her posture. She merely nods, smiling a little when his lips skim across her cheek, soft and familiar.

They remain close for the rest of the car ride, Peter’s head resting against her shoulder, eyes drooping. He might fall asleep the moment they arrive.

“Hey, Em,” he prompts, voice hazy and hushed, laced with quiet emotion. “There’s something I want to tell you later. After everything else.”

“Why would you tell me _now_ that you have something to tell me later?”

“So I don’t forget about it.” He immediately shakes his head, letting out a sigh and a wry smile that reads self-idiocy. “I can’t believe I used that explanation. I don’t know how I’d forget this.”

Michelle’s heart thrums.

Maybe she should be nervous.

“Okay, Parker,” she says instead, biting the inside of her cheek.

He sleeps on her for the remainder of the ride.  
  


* * *

  
A private celebration doesn’t mean a small celebration.

That was the first thing Michelle realized upon setting foot on the beach at Montauk, feeling grains of sand already getting between her toes. She regrets wearing sandals—wouldn’t have if she’d known.

There are a lot of people crowded everywhere, some by the pier, some by the lighthouse. Most of them are standing around tables or the bar, drinks already in hand.

Michelle feels like she needs to join the trend if she’s going to get through this without much hardship. Alcohol will help to settle her heart and maybe her head, mind churning with thoughts that don’t need to be there. 

“I might need to have a drink before you introduce me,” she says, voicing her thoughts.

“Here. I’ll make you one,” Peter offers with a small smile, leading her by the hand to the open bar. “I’ve been watching you for a while now, and I think I’ve got the hang of it.”

“You think so?” Michelle quirks her lips, amused, because there’s a difference between copying and knowing what to do.

Peter huffs out a breath, nodding. “Sixty-seven percent sure, at least.”

“So you’re thirty-three percent unsure.”

“Come on, be optimistic in my favor,” he says, already pouring too much white rum into the strawberry daiquiri blend. “Glass half-full outlook, right?”

“Glass half-full of air,” Michelle responds, humming, and quickly places a hand on Peter’s arm to stop him from filling the blender to the rim with rum. “You _do_ want to taste the strawberries.”

“Right, of course. Okay, I have the ice...sugar, strawberries, and rum. What—what else do I need?”

Michelle starts pulling bottles from the shelves and hands them over. “The lime juice...lemon juice. I also add lemon-lime soda as a secret ingredient.”

“What? I’ve never seen you put that in before.”

“Hence...secret ingredient.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter mumbles with a roll of his eyes, nudging her with his elbow, and then tops off the blender with a few more fresh berries.

Once mixed, the finished product doesn’t look half-bad.

Michelle tips the liquid into two glasses, handing one over to him. They share smiles upon clinking their daiquiris together.

“Congrats on your first drink. Don’t come for my job now.”

“Team effort,” he corrects before taking a long sip, eyes widening in delight. “But feel free to hire me later. This is fantastic.”

“I won’t argue with you there.” 

Though, her face heats up as Peter presses his strawberry-stained lips to her cheek, chilly from the ice, a nice combatant. He grins in a pleased way.

“I’m going to go find Tony, so I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Michelle doesn’t have the chance to respond before he darts off, immediately disappearing among the throngs of people. She shakes her head and continues sipping her drink from behind the counter, the alcohol soothing her mind and potential nervousness just a bit.

Another voice speaks up just then, louder than any of the surround sound, after not even two minutes of being alone.

“Two blueberry mojitos to go, please.” 

It takes a moment, but Michelle realizes that those words were meant for her. She turns around and lowers the glass from her lips, releasing a chilled breath. 

“For you and your wife, I presume?”

Tony Stark smiles cheekily, all teeth, folding a pair of sunglasses and letting them dangle from his dress shirt. “Got it in one. She likes ‘em bitter, so if you could add a little more vodka, I’ll tip you extra.”

“Congrats on ten years,” Michelle hums absently but cuts him off before he can open his mouth again. “But for the record, while I am a bartender, I am not _your_ bartender.”

“No? I apologize, I just figured—”

“That since I was standing behind the counter, I’m here to serve you? Sorry to disappoint,” she responds dryly.

“I didn’t recognize you,” Tony clarifies, both eyebrows raising. “Still don’t. Wasn’t sure if you were on the invite list, but since I’m not even aware of your name…”

Michelle shrugs, taking another sip of her drink. “I wasn’t on the list. I’m just a plus-one.”

“Plus-one?” Tony frowns. “Nowhere on the invitation did it say plus-ones were allowed unless Pep added it...or, wait. You don’t happen to be—”

“Hey, Em, I couldn’t—oh.” Peter approaches her, looking between them both with a surprised smile. “Why didn’t you let me know you found him? I’ve been wandering around like a complete idiot for the past ten minutes.”

“You’re MJ.” Tony sighs, massaging his forehead, another sign of contemplating self-idiocy.

“I’m MJ,” she echoes with a ghost of a smirk. “But feel free to call me Michelle.”

Peter purses his lips, letting his arm wrap around her waist. She doesn’t hesitate to lean into it, simultaneously calculating Tony’s varying expressions. “So, you guys have been talking?”

“Barely,” Michelle says, slightly amused. “First thing he asked was if I could make him and Pepper drinks.”

Tony holds up a finger, quick on the rebuttal. “But in my defense, I didn’t know you were MJ.”

“No. Truly, I appreciated your assumptions so much more.”

Unadulterated sarcasm drips from her tongue, though Michelle thinks that she’s doing a good job at keeping the initial feeling of disdain at bay.

Still gets a snort out of Tony.

“Now I’m starting to wonder how I _didn’t_ realize that this is your girlfriend,” he comments, raising a brow, gaze flickering between her and Peter. “Very in-character from how you’ve described.”

Michelle glances at Peter with a half-smile laced with suspicion. “And how exactly did you describe me?”

Before her boyfriend can even stumble over his words, Tony answers in his stead, and she’s not sure how to feel about that.

“I’ve heard everything from genius to smarter than _me_.” He huffs, not giving Peter’s blushing face a chance to breathe. “And keep in mind that this has been going on for _years_. You’d think a guy would get tired of gushing.”

“Flattery doesn’t help you too much when I’m not there to hear it,” she manages to say, looking at Peter with warm cheeks, and he grins, head ducked.

“You’ve been my best friend for a long time. It’s not flattery. It’s just the truth.”

Tony whistles in the background.

Michelle makes the decision to block him out in favor of pressing her lips to Peter’s forehead, all chill having faded in his presence. He gently squeezes her hip in response.

“Alright, lovebirds. As much as I don’t want to make this all about me, today _is_ supposed to be all about me,” Tony says. “And my wife. Ten years. Won’t make it to eleven if I’m late to the top of the lighthouse.”

“You could’ve left us alone ages ago, Stark.”

Tony frowns and looks to Peter for backup but receives a mere shrug in return.

“I mean, you could have.”

“Gen Z’s,” Tony grumbles under his breath, spinning on his expensive heel and starts heading over to the lighthouse.

Once he’s out of sight, Michelle pulls back just enough to see Peter’s face, his earnest eyes and hopeful smile.

“So, what did you think of Tony? Not as bad as you assumed, right?”

“I mean. I don’t hate him,” she offers with a slight shrug, and he nods encouragingly.

“That’s good.”

“I didn’t say I liked him.”

“I’ll still take it,” Peter says, beaming. He squeezes their hands together, starting to lead her towards the dreaded lighthouse. It’s very high. “On a side-note, I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re great.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “The fact that you kept voicing your biased opinion to him is to blame. You’re very influential.”

Peter smirks slightly as they start their venture up the steps. “Or maybe it’s because you’re such a likeable person.”

“Go one day without being nice to me, I dare you.”

“I do not accept that dare. It’s like you’re setting me up to lose.”

Michelle smiles to herself, shaking her head a bit. “No. I’d only do that if there was money on the table.”

“Now you’re making me slightly suspicious of your intentions behind asking me to play Poker with you,” he comments under his breath, and she has to snort.

They finally reach the top of the lighthouse and find that there’s a small crowd of people gathered in front of a small wedding arch, Tony and Pepper beneath it. They’re holding hands, rings shining in the sunlight.

Peter guides her to an empty space against the wall, which helps her feel better about being this high above ground. 

“Tony and Pepper,” the officiant begins with a smile, nodding to both of them. “When you first joined in marriage ten years ago…”

Michelle watches them exchange words that are an echo from their first ceremony, a promise that’s already lasted years and will probably last decades longer. 

A feeling gets caught in her throat at the prospect of having this—a love that could last for a lifetime.

It might be hope.

Hope for a happy future, hope for the concrete knowledge of loving someone so much that it could never go away.

It might be fear.

Fear of what could be lost, fear of the disappointment if things don’t go as planned—don’t work out like you thought they would.

No longer does Michelle have to imagine the person she’d want to exchange rings and vows and love with.

But she can’t stop imagining how it could end.

Michelle likes the idea of marriage, but she doesn’t trust it. 

Peter squeezes her hand at that moment, and she looks at him, finding his soft smile that’s reserved only for her.

Right now, nothing is going to change between them. 

They’re okay. 

They’re safe.

Michelle smiles back before joining in on the clapping that ensues when Pepper and Tony kiss. A few small surrounding cannons erupt, showering the couple with cherry blossoms.

The wind picks up just in time to blow them all away.  
  


* * *

  
“Congratulations, again,” Michelle says with a strained smile, trying to keep control on her nerves as she talks to Pepper. This is a big deal, sue her. “Ten years...that’s an accomplishment.”

Pepper laughs, nodding, and twists her wedding ring around her finger. “I’ve sure got the gray hairs to count for it. Thank you, MJ.”

“You’re welcome,” she hums, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, because it’s getting chilly with the wind blowing gusts on top of the lighthouse.

Tony approaches them at that moment, smirking slightly. “Hey, Pep. You ready to get back down there and bust a move with me?”

“With your luck and age, you’re going to bust a hip,” Pepper says. 

“I trust you’ll be there to put it back in place.”

Pepper sighs but still smiles fondly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m always there, Tony.”

“Feel free to join us down there any time, Miss Jones,” Tony tells her, already starting to guide his wife towards the stairs.

“It was lovely to meet you, Michelle,” Pepper calls over her shoulder before they disappear.

Michelle turns her head to look at the view surrounding the lighthouse, even going as far as to the railing with the promise to not look down. The breeze chills her to the bone, but she feels relaxed.

A moment or two passes before a suit jacket is placed over her shoulders, a warm body standing close.

“Hey. It’s getting a little cold up here. Did you want to head down?”

“You can. I just want to stand here for a minute.”

Peter huffs out a quiet laugh, arms wrapping around her, a hug from behind. His chin rests on her shoulder and strawberry sugar lingers in the air when he speaks. “What happened to your fear of heights?”

“Don’t remind me,” Michelle warns with a small smile, twisting her head slightly to look at him. He takes the chance to peck her on the lips.

“The ceremony was nice, wasn’t it?”

“Really nice. Kind of makes you think, though.”

“Yeah. It does,” he agrees quietly, and she doesn’t recognize the tone of his voice, but it makes her heart thrum. “Do you want to dance?”

Michelle risks a glance at the beach. “There are already a lot of people dancing down there.”

“We can stay up here,” Peter says with a shrug, and she must make a face because he snorts. “What? I’m not going to dip you over the _railing_.”

That receives an eye-roll, but she still slips her hand into his as they gravitate together to the center of the floor. 

Peter keeps a gentle hold on her, the familiarity of it all wrapped around her like a protective blanket. He closes his eyes as they slow-dance, but she doesn’t and isn’t sure if she ever has.

Michelle likes seeing him.

She lets her eyes trace every feature of his, freckles and lashes and lips, lets her mind commit every piece of him to memory. 

Because the idea of _forgetting_ hurts in a way that Michelle can’t quite grasp, she keeps everything that’s _Peter_ close to her heart.

Warmth rises to her cheeks when he twirls her slowly and then brings her back to his arms, a sensation that feels like coming home.

Peter smiles, small and secretive, before openly kissing her, thumb brushing against her jaw. She sighs, content, letting her palm rest over his pulse, a quick thing.

“This isn’t dancing,” Michelle utters against his lips.

“You don’t seem to be complaining,” he teases.

“I never complain to you.”

Peter gasps. “Hello? Who are you and what have you done to Michelle?”

“Stop talking,” she huffs, and he laughs, giving her one more lingering kiss.

“There she is. My fav.” Peter tucks a curl behind her ear, reverent, before glancing behind them, towards the stairs. “I think I’m going to get another drink. Do you want anything?”

Michelle shakes her head. “I’m good.”

“Okay. I’ll be back up,” he promises, giving her finger-guns, and then starts heading down towards the beach.

The wind begins heavily picking up again not even a minute later.

Releasing a chilled breath, Michelle slips her arms through Peter’s jacket. To warm her gradually freezing fingertips, she shoves her hands in the pockets while tilting her head up to watch an airplane fly by.

Though, much to Michelle’s surprise, her knuckle hits a piece of solid plastic within the folds of the fabric.

Curious, she takes it out.

Michelle swallows thickly upon seeing the resemblance to a ring box.

Which gets shoved back down into the depths of the pocket before she even begins to consider opening it.

Evidently, Michelle’s mind automatically jumped to the worst possible assumption, and she figures she should probably calm down.

It’s not a big deal.

They’ll be hitting their six-month mark this weekend, so.

That should speak for itself.

Her mind too muddled to really think, she slides down to the floor, resting her head against the wall.

Michelle isn’t sure how many minutes pass before Peter returns, but she selfishly wishes she could’ve had more time to herself.

Though, upon seeing the soft smile on his face as he holds two drinks in his hands, she finds it ridiculous to have ever thought that.

“Hey. I’ve gravitated to the floor,” she says.

“I do like the floor,” Peter agrees, taking a seat next to her. “I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I made this drink all on my own for you. So, you’re basically obligated to taste it.”

Michelle’s lips curve upwards easily. “Thanks.”

“And I added my own secret ingredient.”

Feeling the flavor bubble pleasantly on her tongue, she nods. “This is actually pretty good, Parker. You’re learning. What’s your secret?”

Peter doesn’t offer a reply, just merely curling his hands into a heart over his chest, eyebrows wiggling.

What a romantic loser.

“So,” he prompts after taking a long sip from his own drink, looking at the horizon instead of her. “You know that...thing I said I was going to tell you later? It’s—um...it’s later, and we’re here.”

“We are here,” she echoes, uncertain.

“And you know how our six-month anniversary is this weekend. I mean, if you didn’t know, now you do...but anyway. I could wait until then, but I really don’t have the patience for that.” Peter swallows thickly, raking a hand through his hair. “This is actually kind of nerve-wracking. Gosh.”

It really is.

“Take your time,” Michelle says instead, her smile wry.

Peter nods, his hands absently starting to pat his pockets. A frown works its way onto his lips after a moment, eyes falling on the jacket she’s wearing.

“Um.” He laughs nervously. “You didn’t happen to go through my pockets, did you?”

“I...did.”

“Oh. So, you found—”

“I didn’t open it,” she immediately clarifies, biting the inside of her cheek, a weird feeling pooling in her stomach.

“Oh,” Peter repeats, a broken record. “Okay. Can—can I have it?”

Michelle wordlessly pulls it out, cheeks sucked in as she hands the box over to him. He mutters a ‘ _thanks_ ’, lips pressed into the smallest smile. 

No one says anything else for the next five minutes, and it only serves to make things worse.

“Well, are you going to…?” She trails off, unsure how to finish her question, but Peter nods anyway, chuckling awkwardly.

“Yeah, sorry. I just—I had, like, this whole speech and everything prepared, but now I don’t really remember any of it,” he admits. “But I do remember the point I wanted to get across, which is that...I love you. I’m _in_ love with you, Em.”

Michelle feels herself break into a tiny smile, and while her nerves aren’t eased about the box, she can’t not wrap her arms around him in a clumsy floor hug.

This is the one thing she doesn’t have to question.

“I’m in love with you, too, loser,” she mumbles in his ear, wondering if they’re close enough for him to hear her heart. It’s racing up a storm from adrenaline and love.

“Cool,” he exhales, grinning. “That—that’s really cool.”

“Super cool.”

“Awesome.” He laughs again, more relaxed this time. “I, uh...I actually have something for you. Obviously. You already saw the box.”

“It’s not a ring, is it?” Michelle hopes the sarcasm was evident in her tone, despite trying to keep the conversation light.

Peter blinks, rubbing the back of his neck. “It is, actually. I thought you said you didn’t look.”

“I didn’t,” she says, her throat dry. “But I took an educated guess based on the box.”

It’s just going to be a ring.

Not _the_ ring.

Even Peter wouldn’t do that after only six months.

“Well...this is for you,” he tells her, voice soft and barely above a whisper, opening the box for her to reveal a thin silver band and a beautiful glass flower sitting atop it. “It’s a black dahlia. From, you know…”

“The murder,” Michelle finishes, warmth trailing Peter’s touch as he slides the ring on her finger. She smiles at the gesture but also in relief, knowing that this was a confirmation she didn’t realize she needed so badly. “This is really nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter replies, beaming, and leans in to peck her on the lips. “I love you.”

Michelle huffs out a quiet laugh, shying away from his eyes. “I hope this ring wasn’t expensive.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you how much it cost,” he teases, and she rolls her eyes halfheartedly, her mind still stuck on the _what-if’s_.

_What would she have done if it weren’t just a gift?_

Peter must catch on to her hesitancy and asks what’s wrong, brows furrowed.

But Michelle can’t seem to voice her fears, doesn’t think she’d even want to.

There’s no need.

( _They’re still okay._

 _They’re still safe._ )

“It’s nothing,” she tells him, brushing it off, but he doesn’t look convinced in the slightest.

“You know you can tell me,” Peter says, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Is it the ring? Do you not like it?”

Michelle frowns. “No, of course I like it.”

Her boyfriend continues to press with the knowledge that if he does it long enough, her walls will give in. “Then what’s bothering you?”

“I just…” She sighs, taking a long sip from the drink he made her, trying to relieve the pressure. It doesn’t work—his gaze doesn’t falter. “I was nervous. That’s all.”

Peter nods, as if he suddenly understands what’s going on, but he doesn’t. “Okay. What were you nervous about? Because if you couldn’t tell, I was nervous, too.”

“Peter,” she warns. “It’s not a big deal.”

“MJ,” he counters. “It must be a big deal if you’re refusing to tell me.”

Michelle’s jaw clenches, and she looks towards the sunset instead of at him, glass between her teeth. “I was afraid it could’ve been a different kind of ring. But it wasn’t, so I’m good. I’m fucking fantastic now, okay?”

Peter swallows, eyes widening just a bit. “A different kind of ring? Like...you mean…”

“Yes. An engagement ring. I didn’t want it to be an _engagement ring_ , and it wasn’t. We’re good,” she says, hearing the annoyance in her own voice at having to admit it.

“Wow,” Peter rasps, looking down. “I didn’t realize you would have such a grudge against the idea of marrying me. But, uh...thanks for the clarification.”

Michelle feels the force of his words like a slap across the face, and she immediately shakes her head. “No, Peter, that’s not it.”

“Well, I don’t know what else it could be. You’re telling me that you’re relieved I’m not proposing to you?” He stands up, wiping his hands against his pants.

“Peter, we’ve only been together for six months—”

“What, it’s the timing?”

“No.”

“So, it’s not the timing, and it’s not me.” Sarcasm drips from his words, and she digs her nails in her palms, shaking her head. “Then what the hell is it? Because if you’ve already made up your mind about us, then...what are we doing?”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with you. I just…” She releases a slow breath, trying to swallow her tears, swallow the fear of loss and the fear of a failing marriage.

“You just want to date in limbo where it doesn’t go anywhere. What about me? I—I want to get married eventually.”

“Yeah. I know,” Michelle says, ducking her face into the crook of her elbow, hoping to scrub away her fucking emotions.

“Hey. Look, we...we can talk about this later,” Peter tells her, and when she opens her eyes, he’s there, expression unreadable. “Today is about Tony and Pepper.”

Michelle folds her lips together, nodding. “Ten years.”

“Ten years,” he echoes quietly and hesitates for a moment before pressing his lips to her forehead. “Come on.”

They walk down the lighthouse staircase together.

Michelle twists the ring on her finger.

They’re ~~okay~~.

They’re ~~safe~~.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of songs i played on repeat to get through this chapter—
> 
> im sorry in advance!!

_v. happy & may_

Two weeks have passed.

Two weeks of awkwardly skirting around each other.

Two weeks of aborted kisses and side-hugs that are too tense to be natural.

Peter can’t take it anymore. 

And Michelle has seemed more frustrated than anything.

That’s most likely his fault, considering all he’s been doing is trying to dodge the inevitable topic that’s forced a gaping chasm between them by constantly changing the subject. 

Peter was the one to suggest that they talk in the first place, and yet, this is a conversation he so desperately doesn’t want to have.

It’s just, the confrontation of _that_ idea again—the idea that maybe Michelle doesn’t want to marry him...for whatever reason that he hasn’t grasped—makes his stomach twist painfully. 

He loves her, loves the concept of a future together just as much, and the prospect of her not feeling the same way hurts more than he’d like to admit.

But as much as he’d like to ignore the problem until it’s forgotten, they do have to talk at some point.

Peter calls her up, finding his palm slick with sweat as he listens to his phone ring. She answers after the second.

“What’s up?”

“Hey,” he prompts, aimlessly walking around his apartment. “I was wondering if you could come over. I, um, thought we should finally...you know.”

“Great minds think alike. I was already on my way,” Michelle responds, and he thinks she’s making her tone light for his sake, just to ease him into it. “Knock, knock.”

There’s a rap on his apartment door.

“Who’s there?” Peter manages the smile on his lips, already prepared to welcome her inside. 

“Michelle.”

“Michelle who?” He swings the door open to find her standing there, a cup of coffee in each hand and his green army jacket pulled over her shoulders. She shrugs and walks past him, towards the living area.

“Michelle Jones.”

“That was terrible,” Peter says, taking the coffee that’s being offered to him, his order as always. She has it down in the notes on her phone, but he knows she’d memorized it first.

“As all knock-knock jokes are,” she counters with an even stare, and he unfortunately can’t argue that. “So. Are we really going to talk like adults tonight and stop beating around the bush?”

Peter winces slightly, hiding his face behind the non-recyclable coffee cup. “I don’t know. How do adults talk?”

“With their words and not just their lips,” Michelle says, raising an eyebrow. “Because you can’t always kiss your way out of your problems.”

Another distraction tactic he’s guilty of.

“Wow. I didn’t know that,” Peter responds, his voice sounding like a video game character when the console’s just about to die. He snaps his mouth closed at her unimpressed stare. 

“Well, I sure hope you’re listening now.”

“I am,” he promises—in more ways than one. Just rip off the bandaid, right? It shouldn’t be too hard. “So...marriage is a funny thing, isn’t it?”

Michelle nods, absently twisting the ring that he’d given her. It’s a tick she’s picked up, he’s noticed—something she does when she’s nervous. 

His own fingers flex as he restrains from reaching for her hand.

“Funnier than you’d think,” she utters, shaking her head. “Marriage feels like a joke in itself.”

“And this preludes to you...not wanting to get married to me,” Peter says, trying to think out loud and not sound like he’s in pain at the same time. 

Her expression shifts back to the defensive but maybe in his honor.

“Peter. I told you that this isn’t...I’m not hesitant about you, okay? Never about you,” Michelle responds, quiet, and he swallows thickly, trying to wrap his head around that reassurance. “I don’t know how to get you to believe me.”

“Just keep talking,” Peter utters in hopes that he sounds at least a little encouraging. He wants to believe her but needs a different reasoning in its place to blame.

Michelle looks down at her hands, wringing them together. “I know the timing is shit. We’ve only been together six months, and we’re already talking about marriage.”

Peter hums, easing down next to her on the couch. “Sooner is better than later, right? I mean, as much as I...dislike it, I’d rather know what you think now.”

“Yeah. Gives you more opportunity to change your mind,” she says, her humor dry and smile wry, but he doesn’t find it funny, the idea of changing his mind about her. 

“I’m not going to…”

“Only six months,” Michelle utters, a reminder of how new their relationship is, as if that has some factor in their survival rate.

( _Does it?_ )

“Six months and counting,” he responds, because surely, they’re going to last longer than half a year. Yeah, this is a bump in the road, but there’s no way it’s going to derail them off the tracks.

Michelle folds her lips inward. “You’re right. Maybe we would’ve had all the time in the world to have this conversation.”

Except, no. That’s where Peter disagrees.

There has to be a point, an ending—hell, a _transition_ from dating to something more. He wants that tether eventually, that concrete connection in the form of marriage, tying the two of them together for the rest of their lives.

Marriage is so important to him, a shared trait among his family, and he doesn’t know if he can be trailed along without the promise of that.

“Time is relative,” he says instead, chewing the inside of his cheek. “But I still don’t understand why you don’t...why you wouldn’t want…”

“Statistically speaking, every one in two marriages ends in divorce,” Michelle says, eyes lowered. “People...falling out of love, fighting, cheating...whatever the hell the reason is. Everything that’s been built together just...ends.”

“That can happen with any relationship,” Peter reasons.

“Of course it can, but when you marry someone, you’re supposed to think your love is going to last forever.” She blows out a breath. “There’s so much more loss involved when it doesn’t work out. Vows go null and void. Do you know of any divorced couples that stayed friends? Because I don’t.”

“I guess...I really don’t, but…”

“I don’t know if I can risk it, Peter. I love you...but getting married sounds like playing a losing game.”

Peter swallows the lump in his throat, because that seemed like a definite _no_. 

“I think you’re looking at it the wrong way. Marriage is like being dropped in the middle of a battle where only the strongest survive, yeah? There has to be some level of...trust between the two partners that you’re going to make it.”

Michelle inhales sharply. “There’s no guarantee.”

“There never will be a guarantee.” Peter looks down at his lap. “MJ, if you don’t believe our relationship is ever going to be strong enough to last through marriage, then...maybe we’ve already lost.”

“I’m just…” She bites her cheek, eyes welling, and his heart crumbles. “I’m scared.”

“I get it,” he whispers, taking her hand between the two of his. “We’ve only been together for six months, and it’s hard to imagine anything now. This is a big deal.”

“Should we wait then?” Michelle chews on her lower lip, hesitant and unsure. “To have this conversation in the future? We’ll have more of a solid ground on our relationship to evaluate things.”

Peter frowns at the idea of that, of waiting years to talk about marriage again and there still being the possibility of her saying no to it. 

_What if she never changes her mind?_

He loves Michelle and knows that she loves him, but where is it going to go if not to the promise of forever. 

They’re still at the beginnings of something beautiful, and he wants her to say _yes_ to the idea of taking a chance at marriage, seeing where it goes from there.

But imagine spending years together and never reaching that point.

“Maybe...it would be better to take a small break instead,” Peter proposes tentatively, trying not to regret his words even as her face falls. “Only so we can reconsider the importance of what we both want.”

“I already told you what I wanted, and I didn’t think it was that hard of a request,” she says, wiping her eyes void of tears. “But I get it. You obviously want a wedding and a wife, and if I can’t give it to you, then you’d rather have a chance to back out.”

Peter’s heart drops as she pulls away from him. “What? MJ, come on, that—that’s not what this is.”

But his words are already out there, sounding wrong in all the ways that mattered.

“Fuck off, Peter,” she says, shaking her head. “If you want a break after everything we’ve just talked about, then take a break. Hell, take two.”

“Em, please,” he whispers, standing up and following her to the door. “I just want to give both of us time to think everything through without the pressure. I’m not backing out—I _love_ you.”

“I know you do.” Michelle’s hand clenches around the knob as she turns away from him. “But apparently, that’s not enough.”  
  


* * *

  
Two more weeks pass.

Two weeks of denial.

Two weeks of being dodged.

Two weeks of missing her to no extent.

He _really_ can’t take it anymore.

Peter asked for a break, and he got one, all right—a break full of nothing but radio silence from Michelle’s end, an obvious indicator that he fucked up beyond his own imagination.

It’s funny in a humorless way, he thinks, that with all the talk about fear of losing each other, Peter realizes he only propelled them into the grinder faster.

Because while this might be just a break, it feels like the line that tethered them and their future together was cut short.

And he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“Pete, honey? Have you been listening to me?”

“Sorry, May,” he apologizes quietly, turning his attention back to his aunt, who happens to be sporting her own newly minted engagement ring. This is supposed to be a celebratory breakfast, but it’s flopping hard. 

May and Happy, the couple of the month.

Peter thought it was just a summer fling, but it had apparently been going on for much longer than anyone thought. Who would’ve known his aunt could keep a relationship secret for two years?

“Are you okay, Peter? You’ve been spacing out a lot recently,” May comments, a wrinkle of concern between her brows.

“Yeah, no, I’m good. Perfectly fine.”

No one knows what happened between him and Michelle, and Peter doesn’t really have the heart to talk about it. Not yet.

May doesn’t look like she believes him, but she drops the topic for now in favor of wedding plans. “Happy and I decided we’re going to keep it small. Only close friends and family.”

Peter nods, mindlessly stirring his cup of coffee. “So you’ve changed your mind about the courthouse?”

“Yeah. I’ve already had that once...with Ben.” Her eyes go fond in remembrance, lips curling up in a small smile. “And I’d like to change things up a bit. This is going to be an impromptu wedding. There’s no way in hell I’m waiting a year to say the words ‘ _I do_ ’.”

“Life’s too short,” he agrees, folding his hands around the mug.

“I’m enlisting you to help us set it up,” May tells him. “And MJ too, if she’d like. I know you two have this whole...dynamic with weddings.”

Peter swallows, his coffee bitter going down. “You might be better off asking her yourself.”

May narrows her eyes, suspicious. “And why’s that, Pete?”

“I mean. You are her favorite person in the world,” he says, figuring it’s not too far off from the truth.

“As honored as I should be,” she prompts, giving him a significant look. “I believe that spot is already filled.”

_Maybe not so much anymore._  
  


* * *

  
Michelle agreed to help with the wedding.

Peter isn’t sure if he’s more surprised or relieved.

They’ve already booked the venue for the reception, a nice indoor botanic garden in Brooklyn, and they’re in the process of decorating it with anything and everything you’d ever see at a ceremony.

“MJ, honey, be careful,” May calls out, eyes locked on Michelle as she’s currently standing on a stepladder, stretching to hang fairy lights across the trellis. “Are you sure you don’t want Peter to do that?”

Michelle sucks in her cheeks, shaking her head a little bit. “No, I’ve got it, May.”

“Besides, I’m probably too short to do it, anyway,” Peter adds offhandedly but doesn’t receive any indicator that she’s listening to him at all. Not even a crack of a smile at his expense.

May must notice something’s off because she clears her throat. “Well, I’m going to head back to book the photographer and the officiant. Happy will be here later to set up the chairs and tables.”

“Okay, May.”

“If you need anything, holler.” She gives Peter one last significant look before turning around, leaving the two of them alone.

Peter watches Michelle, tracing the curls of her hair and the slope of her neck with his eyes, having not seen her in far too long. He’s missed her so much and even if she isn’t talking to him, he’ll take her company over nothing.

“Are—are you sure you don’t want me to hold the ladder steady?”

“I’m sure,” Michelle huffs. “There are those ribbons that can be wrapped around the columns if you feel like being productive.”

Peter sighs, bundling a few in his hands.

He manages to focus on decorating for a good ten minutes, his attention not straying away from the task. It’s a good distraction, but it only lasts until he’s finished with the final ribbon.

As soon as he looks up, he finds Michelle’s gaze on him, scrutinizing. His cheeks flash with heat, especially when she shakes her head, emotion in her eyes as she quickly looks away.

If he were to try apologizing now, would that make things better or worse?

_How does one make up for what he’s done?_

“MJ,” he speaks up, nervous upon seeing her stiffen. “MJ, can we talk?”

“If it isn’t wedding related, I’d rather not,” Michelle replies, unblinking.

“I mean, technically…”

“Peter.” It sounds like a warning.

But he’s never been good at following the signs.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Peter blurts out, knowing that while those words won’t fix everything, maybe they’ll still be a start.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Michelle stretches onto her toes to drape the last strand of lights over the beams. “You made it clear what you wanted. Can’t really fault you for that.”

“You’ve been ignoring me for weeks…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her words. “I thought we were on a break?”

“MJ, please.” He doesn’t know what he’s begging for—maybe forgiveness, maybe another chance, or maybe just to start over—but she never gets the time to answer.

Peter can blame the fault stepladder all he wants, but when it starts to tip forward from imbalance, Michelle immediately goes to step down. Her foot doesn’t quite catch correctly, and she nearly falls back.

Nearly.

It was automatic, his hands gripping her gently by the waist to keep her steady, pulling her just a bit closer. Neither of them had really expected it, but now that it’s happened, Peter doesn’t know what to do from here.

This is the closest he’s been to Michelle in weeks, and the fact that she doesn’t immediately jump away from him makes his heart race.

Except, that thrill doesn’t last long, because he notices her hands—notices that neither are donning the ring he’d given her weeks earlier.

Peter shouldn’t be surprised that she’s taken it off.

But it still hurts.

“Nice save,” she mutters, though he can’t see her face.

“Are you okay?” There’s a beat of silence that lasts too long, and he assumes her lack of an answer is because she’s upset with him, so he quickly removes his hands. “MJ?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Michelle turns around to look at him, and he notices her eyes are a little misty. “I, uh...I think I’m done with the lights. I’m going to put the ladder back.”

“I can do that for you,” he offers, but she shakes her head, saying that she’s got it and then leaves him alone outside.

Minutes pass in intervals of five.

By the time it hits fifteen, Peter sighs, figuring she’s not coming back out.

It’s settled. Michelle hates his guts.

And May’s emerging just now, probably to confirm it, judging by the way her lips are set in a thin line.

“What did you do, Pete?”

“That’s...a loaded question,” he says, trying for a laugh to lighten the mood, but it just sounds sad instead. “And also kind of a long story.”

May gives him a consoling look. “I can listen and sort invitations at the same time.”

“Are you going to take sides?”

“Most likely. Don’t worry, I won’t tell you which side I’m on,” she jokes, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance.

Peter smiles weakly in response.  
  


* * *

  
Peter doesn’t get just one talk with May.

He gets two.

Happy is included in the second one to add his two cents, though judging by the look on his face when Peter explains what happened, he’s going to have the same opinion as his fiancée.

“Kid, look. You guys are still young. You’ve got your whole lives ahead of you. Marriage is a big thing to think about at your age, and MJ is understandably nervous about it.” He sighs, scrubbing his jaw. “Did you listen to what she had to say?”

“Of course I listened,” Peter replies, slightly indignant.

Happy shakes his head. “No. Did you _listen_? Because what it sounds like to me is you just pushed her away. Who in the world told you that suggesting a break is ever a good idea?” 

“I—I thought that...I don’t know. I thought that taking a break would give me a chance to come to terms with the idea that we might never...that she might not want to get married.”

And maybe because he had a sliver of hope that she would change her mind after having enough time to think it over.

A selfish thought, Peter thinks.

Their relationship doesn’t revolve all around him.

“It boils down to this. Is marriage more important to you than she is?”

Peter stiffens, half-wondering if it’s a trick question because the answer comes to him so fast and so easily. “No. MJ, she...she’s one of the most important people in my life.”

“Then prove it to her,” May says. “Because if you ever, ever want marriage to be an option between the two of you, then you need to be proving that your relationship is strong enough to handle it—however long that takes. Stop pulling away.”

“Give yourselves time to grow,” Happy adds, sneaking a small smile at his wife-to-be. “Sooner isn’t always better.”

The exact thing that Michelle had suggested.

_Did he really listen?_

All signs are pointing to no.

Peter knows there’s a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach but hopefully not for long. He thinks he can fix this if they talk.

_The right way this time._

“Says the person who’s having an impromptu wedding because they can’t wait any longer,” he jokes offhandedly.

“Kid, have you seen your aunt? You can’t blame me.”

“Oh, my god. You guys are so gross.”

“And we aren’t even in the honeymoon phase yet.”

Peter must make a face because they both chuckle, so he quickly excuses himself, walking inside the small building by the garden to make a call.

The first time he tries, she doesn’t pick up.

The second time, she does.

“Hey,” he says quietly, holding his breath for a response, only to receive a hum in return. It’s enough of an acknowledgement for him. “So, I’m not sure if this was a given or not...especially now, but I was wondering if you’d want to be my date to May’s wedding.”

Michelle waits a beat or two before sighing. “I can’t, Peter. I’m working that day.”

His heart sinks, and he has half a mind to wonder if she’s making it up to avoid him. “You’re...working?” 

“Yeah,” she says, her tone unreadable.

“Are there any other days that you’re free? Because I just...I’d love to talk.”

“I’m not sure,” Michelle admits, and he nods to himself, wondering if the mistake he made did irreparable damage. She doesn’t want to see him, that much is clear. “But I can let you know if one comes up.”

“Yeah—whatever...whatever you want,” Peter agrees, biting the words off his tongue.

He figures that’s as good as it’s going to get for him right now.  
  


* * *

  
The wedding comes faster than any of them anticipate.

Especially in Peter’s case.

It’s hard, he thinks, seeing his aunt—someone he loves so much—about to get married to another person that isn’t his uncle. 

But in the same way, it’s exciting, and Peter doesn’t think he could be happier that she’s moving on with a man that truly loves her in the same way that Ben had all those years ago.

May is lucky to feel this kind of love twice in one lifetime.

His eyes are already wet with emotion and unshed tears as he helps her clasp a necklace around her neck. She’s not wearing a wedding dress, having decided with Happy on semi-formal attire, but she still looks beautiful. 

Peter tells her that with a watery laugh, and she smiles, wiping away his tears. He’d love to blame them on the heat with the way he’s sweating, but that would be a lie.

“Oh, my boy,” May says, bringing him into a tight hug. “I love you, Pete.”

“Love you, too, May,” he responds, swallowing thickly, and she gives his arm a reassuring squeeze before looping hers through it. “Are you ready?”

May releases a small laugh, nodding. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Peter brings her through the back door of the small building, down towards the aisle scattered with white flower petals that leads to the pavilion. 

Everyone stands up at their entrance, watching them with emotional expressions as they walk barefoot among the grass.

May’s destination is standing alongside Happy.

Peter moves behind her, the only bridesman she could ever need.

The officiant begins his speech, the same speech Peter has heard during every wedding he’s been to, but this time, it shakes him to his core and not just because this is his aunt’s ceremony.

The possibility of having _this_ —a celebration bringing two people together for the rest of their lives, a marriage—was what he’d pushed so hard for from Michelle, just enough for them to collapse into nothingness.

He should’ve given their relationship all the time in the world to figure it out, should’ve allowed the chance to ease her fears himself, but he didn’t. And now, they’re barely speaking.

Peter knows now that it wasn’t worth it—that nothing could possibly be worth the feeling permanently stuck in his chest from losing her.

“Do you, Harold Hogan, take May Parker to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” he says, holding a smile to his lips, hands locked with hers.

“And do you, May Parker, take Harold Hogan to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” she echoes softly, so evidently enamored.

“Then I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant announces. “You may kiss the bride.”

Flowers rain down from the sky right as they do so, and Peter tries wiping the wetness from his eyes, attempting a smile for their sake. He should be happy for them, and he is.

But when it comes down to it, his mood isn’t what it was twenty minutes ago, and the idea of socializing for another three hours during the reception doesn’t seem all that appealing.

Today is supposed to be about May and Happy, but he selfishly can’t stop thinking about himself—hates that he can’t stop.

When everyone starts heading to the garden area, Peter immediately makes a beeline towards the outdoor bar. No one’s behind the counter, so he figures it’s an open one.

Which means more alcohol for him.

Everything Michelle had taught him in the past about making drinks has completely escaped his mind, so he just pours himself a glass of straight vodka.

Peter hates hard liquor, more a fan of the fun drinks, but he’s desperate for some peace of mind. He doesn’t want to ruin their wedding party with his bad mood.

His throat burns and his eyes sting as takes another big swallow, equally regretting and relishing in this decision.

“You do know you have to pay for that, right?”

“This is my aunt’s wedding. I don’t think I _have_ to pay,” Peter grumbles, wondering how much of a lightweight he is if he can already hear her voice in his head.

But then Michelle appears in his peripheral, wearing a floor-length dress in a royal blue shade, curls pinned back. He blinks once, twice, realizing that maybe she isn’t just a figment of his imagination.

“I don’t think you want to be drunk for the toasts,” she says, prying the half-empty glass from his fingers.

“They’re—they’re not having toasts because it’s all impromptu…” Peter trails off, mouth going dry. “What are you doing here?”

Michelle offers a minuscule shrug, moving to stand behind the counter. “I told you that I had work today. What, did you think I was lying?”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to work _here_ ,” he responds with a frown, only to receive an answer expected from her.

“You didn’t ask.”

It’s as simple as that.

And yet, Peter still has so many questions, none of which he can formulate out loud, his mind too much of a conglomerate mess. She still has his glass of vodka in her hands, and he almost reaches for it again but pulls back last minute.

“MJ,” Peter says instead, voice cracking slightly. She stiffens slightly but looks at him, eyes softer than he remembers last.

“Here. I’ll make you a new drink,” Michelle murmurs, starting to pull out the ingredients of his favorite. He doesn’t look away from her in fear that she’ll disappear or that she’ll leave again.

His heart is hammering in his chest.

_If they don’t talk today, would he ever get another chance?_

Peter doesn’t want to risk it, doesn’t want to waste what could be his last opportunity to fix everything between them.

“Do you want to dance?”

Michelle’s hands stall in front of the blender, brows furrowing. “No one’s dancing. There’s not even any music playing.”

“I know. We don’t have to do it in here,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek in preparation for her to say no and that be it.

“I…” She hesitates. “I’m working here, Parker. I can’t just leave the bar unattended.”

“I mean, at worst, someone like me will come around and try downing all the vodka,” Peter reasons.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Michelle exhales but offers a wry smile anyway, gesturing towards the exit. His shoulders relax at the notion, and they walk out of the venue together, hands almost brushing but not quite.

There’s a grassy field scattered with flowers behind the structure, the perfect open space.

Peter grasps Michelle’s palm loosely in his own, the other going around her waist. They’re not as close as they could be, but he wants to respect her boundaries.

It’s more intimate than he’d initially expected, though slow-dancing alone with Michelle rather than surrounded by dozens of other couples is exponentially nicer.

But he’s about to break that bubble of tentative peace with his words.

“MJ,” Peter prompts, voice barely coming out as a whisper. He looks up to find her eyes already on him. “Em...I just want to say that I’m so sorry about everything. I didn’t—”

“Peter,” Michelle interrupts, swallowing as she averts her gaze. “This is your aunt’s wedding. You don’t...have—”

“No, I do. I do. You have to know that I’m not...that I would _never_ change my mind about our relationship just because the idea of getting married scares you. I think I finally understand, and you’re right. It is so scary.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, folding her lips together.

“We’ve only been together for a little bit, and I agree that this is a big conversation. If we have it again sometime in the future, I’m fine with that. And, you know what, even if we don’t, I’ll still be here for as long as you want me around.”

Michelle smiles wryly, placing a hand on his wrist as he tentatively cups her cheek. “Is that so? I know you really want a wedding, Peter…”

“I don’t need a wedding. I'll always love you, even if we never get married,” Peter tells her, open and honest. 

“What changed your mind?”

“Nothing changed my mind. That break was just an eye-opener,” he admits. “I hated it, by the way.”

“You suggested it,” she deadpans.

“Don’t remind me.” Peter mirrors the way her mouth curves upwards slightly, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull her into a tight hug. “I’ve really missed you.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“You were being really obvious about it, and I noticed,” Michelle tells him, letting her lips linger against his forehead. “But I missed you too, Peter.”

Peter huffs out a little breath, grinning, and goes to pull back, only for something to catch on his suit jacket. Carefully, he goes to untangle it, finding the familiar black dahlia ring dangling from a silver chain.

Before he has the chance to ask what happened to it, Michelle glances down and releases a quiet, little ‘ _oh_ ’. 

“Maybe glass wasn’t the best idea for a ring. I see that some of the petals…”

“Yeah,” she says, sounding a little apologetic. “I didn’t want any more to come off, so I put it on the chain.”

Peter frowns, letting the broken ring rest in his palm. “Do you want me to bring it back to the jewelers to fix it?”

Michelle shakes her head, the ring swinging back to its place—right next to her heart—as he releases it. She smiles. “That’s okay. I kind of like it better broken.”

“Me, too,” he responds, huffing out a quiet laugh. His eyes meet hers, softening into equal shades of brown. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

As Peter gently presses his lips to hers, the sun highlighting them among the flowers as it sets, he knows that right here, right now, their love is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the angst! it hurt me too :’)
> 
> One more chapter left <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter! I can’t believe I managed to finish this fic in a month. My heart was on a rollercoaster writing this wow.

_vi. peter & michelle_

Her alarm goes off at midnight.

Michelle blearily blinks her eyes, half-expecting someone else to smack the snooze button so that she could go back to sleep. But, then she remembers that she’s waking up alone, the sheets cold and empty next to her.

After taking a moment to sit up, she glances at the clock once again, wondering if five hours is really enough time. Deciding to have this so early wasn’t her idea, and her sleep schedule is going to suffer for it.

But she hopes that the beauty of it all will be worth every minute.

Michelle walks over to the window, pulling the sheer curtains open so that the moonlight can stream inside the apartment bedroom, stars like spotlights hidden behind the clouds. She can’t help but smile.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get nearly enough time to enjoy the view, a loud knock on their apartment door wrenching her away from the window.

Betty’s standing on the other side, a smile on her face that’s full of _knowing_ , having been in Michelle’s place just a few years earlier.

“I’m assuming you haven’t slept,” Michelle says, casually looking at the way her friend is fully dressed and bouncing on her heels.

“And _I’m_ assuming you just woke up.”

“You think I trust caffeine to keep me up for over twenty-four hours?” She rolls her eyes lightly. “I don’t care how fucked my sleep schedule is now. I needed the shut-eye.”

Betty sighs, long and drawn out, before breaking into the expected giddy squeal. “How do you feel? Are you excited? Nervous? All the above?”

“I’m not...nervous or excited. I’m just...I don’t know. Happy. Really happy that it’s finally happening,” Michelle admits, feeling warmth stir in her gut at the honest answer. “I feel like we’ve gone through so much and we’ve earned this.”

“One-hundred percent. I can’t imagine it going any other way,” Betty says, taking Michelle’s left hand in hers and holds it up in the light.

The diamond sitting atop the silver band glints, a stark reminder sitting on Michelle’s finger that she and Peter are partners in every sense of the way.

Michelle loves it.

Loves him.  
  


* * *

  
_Peter holds his jacket above both him and Michelle—or at least tries to—as they stumble clumsily into their apartment building, soaking wet from the thunderstorm that snuck up on them out of nowhere._

_So much for having a romantic outing, he thinks sourly, inwardly cursing the rain for ruining their day._

_But then he looks at his girlfriend—her smile, her quiet laugh, the way her curls frizz in the humid heat like a halo around her head, and he thinks that maybe it’s not a complete bust. Not yet._

_“God, Peter. Next time, you should let me hold the jacket,” Michelle tells him in the elevator, flinging droplets of water in his direction._

_Peter merely breathes out a sigh, pressing a kiss to her damp skin. “I’ll keep that in mind, MJ.”_

_“We can always go out another time, loser,” she says with an empathetic look, as if she can read his mind. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised. “Don’t let a little rain ruin your oh-so chipper mood.”_

_“I know, I just—I had a lot planned for today. Big things,” he admits, shaking his head, disappointment swirling in his stomach._

_“What, like a couples’ cycling tour around New York?”_

_“You would like that, wouldn’t you? With a two-person bike,” Peter teases, knowing she hates that cheesy type of thing. “A flower petal trail. People serenading us with violin music every step of the way.”_

_“You wish,” she snorts, bumping his shoulder. “I would never talk to you again.”_

_“Liar.”_

_Michelle flips him off with ease, but when she looks away, he can see the small smile playing on her lips, the rosy tint to her cheeks._

_They walk into their shared apartment, hands intertwined until Peter tugs away, veering towards the kitchen. She follows him with her eyes, raising a brow, considering it’s a known fact that he can’t cook for the life of him._

_Hence, the growing pile of takeout in their fridge._

_“Please tell me you’re not going to make dinner,” Michelle says, watching him as he starts to remove pots from the cabinets._

_“Well, I was originally going to take you out to eat later,” Peter reasons. “But since we’re staying in tonight, I’ll make you something. Spaghetti and meatballs.”_

_“You’re going to mess that up somehow.”_

_“It’s not like you can burn pasta.”_

_“Yes, you can,” she says, narrowing her eyes._

_“Fine. Team effort?” Peter turns around and offers her the wooden spoon, which she takes reluctantly. “You can make the pasta, and I’ll make the meatballs.”_

_Michelle nods slowly, pressing her lips together. “Okay.”_

_Peter grins, feeling warmth in his cheeks and the weight in his pocket. “And maybe we can dim down the lights, add a few candles...you know, turn this into a romantic dinner date?”_

_“I’m all about the romance,” she says sarcastically, and he flings a bit of grated Parmesan cheese in her direction._

_“Don’t try to play it off with that tone,” he jokes. “I know you’re as much a sap as I am.”_

_Michelle smiles, a small thing hiding behind a curtain of her curls, but Peter already knows her—knows that she’s just as human as the rest of them and that a gesture meaningful enough will make her cry for hours. He’s been lucky enough to uncover that side of her._

_Peter continues messing with the ground beef, trying to shape it into a sphere while simultaneously casting secret glances at Michelle, his heart thrumming unsteadily._

_Tonight was supposed to be the night._

_And maybe it still could be._

_Michelle’s absentmindedly stirring the pasta in its boiling water, her other hand playing around with the chain that’s been hanging from her neck for over three years now._

_She never takes it off, the symbol of his love for her._

_Peter will never not feel honored at the sight of her still wearing it, but he wonders if she’d be willing to accept another—a ring imbued with just as much love and the added promise of something more._

_They’ve talked about it, the possibility of a future together, a total of three times._

_The first time was too soon, too messy._

_The second time was better but not quite there yet, still standing on shaky ground._

_The third time was when their ideas, their views on the love they shared really started to line up—a solid, concrete thing._

_Peter’s only hope now is that she meant it._

_“The pasta is almost done, I think,” Michelle speaks up after a moment of silence, taking a tentative bite of the spaghetti, shrugging afterward. “I mean, it tastes fine.”_

_“MJ.”_

_“Okay, it’s still a little hard, but I honestly kind of like it that way. You know, crunchy,” she continues, chewing while peering into the boiling water._

_“Michelle.”_

_“You only made one meatball? I don’t really think that we can share…” Michelle trails off upon turning to face him entirely, her eyes falling to the box in his hands, mouth snapping shut._

_“I was originally going to do this on top of the Empire State Building,” Peter begins tentatively, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He shouldn't feel this nervous, but he is. “And then I considered putting it in a meatball for you to find, but I, uh...changed my mind.”_

_Michelle nods, her throat bobbing. “Yeah. I could’ve choked on it.”_

_“Yeah,” he echoes, absently brushing the top of the velvet box with his thumb. “Em, I...I know that this isn’t the grandest gesture in the world. I mean, we’re making dinner in our kitchen. But I just really...I really love you.”_

_“Peter.” Michelle brings one hand up to cover half of her face, expression hidden from him, but he can still hear her inhale sharply when he kneels on one knee._

_“I love you so much. When you made me my first drink at Gwen and Harry’s wedding, I had no idea that I’d want to spend the rest of my life with you, but now I do. And I know that there’s no guarantee of forever, but you’re worth the risk. I want to take the chance and I want...”_

_“Peter.” She’s barely audible._

_“Michelle...I want to marry you, if you’ll have me,” he whispers, holding the ring up in one hand as she holds his heart in hers, both equally as fragile._

_“Oh, my god.” Michelle looks down, eyes averted and wet, lip caught between her teeth._

_“MJ, are...are you crying?”_

_“Of course I’m crying.” She finally meets his gaze, and he finds the emotion he couldn’t see before, finds the smallest smile gracing her lips. “God, Peter. This is so like you.”_

_And then she kisses him._

_It means everything._

_Peter hugs her by the waist, lifting her up into his arms. “Is—is that a yes?”_

_“It’s a ‘hell, yes’,” Michelle says before kissing him again, slow and sensual, languidly and loving. She laughs under her breath. “It’s an ‘I love you, too’.”_

_His heart bursts, filling him from head to toe with love and warmth and everything that could ever be associated with Michelle Jones. She’s all he can see, think of, feel in that moment._

_Peter can’t help but shed a tear. “We’re getting married.”_

_“We’re getting married.”_  
  


* * *

  
“You look good, man,” Ned mumbles, wiping his eyes vigorously while trying to add an encouraging thumb’s up. “Like, really good. Am I allowed to say smoking hot? Is that a confidence booster? I—I honestly don’t know. Wolf-whistling is degrading, right?”

Peter breathes out an earnest laugh, wondering just how emotional his best friend is going to be judging on the ramblings alone. “I mean, I wouldn’t take offense...but thanks, dude. I’m honestly—I’m shaking a little.”

It’s true. His hands can’t seem to steadily hold the comb through his hair as he tries to manage his curls.

Ned’s mouth falls into an ‘o’ shape. “Woah. You’re that nervous?”

“No, I just—I had a lot of caffeine,” Peter excuses, thinking about how many cups of coffee he’d downed earlier. “Because I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep.”

“So...you’re _not_ nervous?”

“Um. Well, maybe a little,” he admits, but that feeling is nothing in comparison to every other emotion flitting through him right now. “I think that’ll go away, though. Once I see her.”

They’ve been apart for the entire weekend, Michelle having suggested trying something traditional—the bride and groom not seeing each other until the wedding.

Peter had reluctantly agreed.

Which has only further ramped up his desire for sunrise to come.

“Oh, my god,” Ned says as he brings Peter’s suit out of the closet, staring at it with weepy eyes as if it’s equally the best and worst thing he’s ever seen. “They grow up so fast.”

“Dude, I haven’t even—”

“So fast,” he repeats, shaking his head and letting out a dramatic sniffle. “Imagine the headline of tonight—the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Parker.”

Peter laughs quietly, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Shut up, man. MJ is going to hyphenate her name, anyway.”

But saying that out loud sends a jolt through his body, a reminder of how real this is—how after everything, they’re finally getting married. It hits him all at once in a new wave of emotion. He has to sit down.

“Peter?”

“I’m good. I just…” He blows out a sharp breath, running hands through the hair he’d just tamed. “I can’t believe I’m actually...I actually get to marry her today. It’s—it’s insane. Is this how you felt on your wedding day?”

“Like the world was finally tipping on its axis in my favor for once?” Ned grins fondly. “Hell, yeah. I felt that for sure, dude.”

“I’m kind of afraid that I’m dreaming,” Peter exhales, cracking a small smile.

Ned takes a seat next to him, shaking his head. “You remember that night you called me all those years ago? It was after Pepper and Tony’s tenth anniversary celebration.”

Peter nods. “Kind of hard to forget that night.”

“You told me what happened, and you wanted me—the connoisseur of love—to give you advice.” Ned pauses. “Did you know that on the same night, MJ had come over to see Betty?”

“What? No, I had no idea.” He takes a moment to think about that. 

“Yeah, man. She _also_ wanted advice on how to make things work—clearly desperate enough to go to my wife who couldn’t write an advice column if you paid her millions. _Anyway_.”

“The point being?”

“I can tell you the one thing I’ve gathered from observing you two over the years, Pete, and that’s that Michelle wants to spend the rest of her life with you _just as much_ as you want to with her.”  
  


* * *

  
_“Oh, honey,” Betty murmurs, bringing over a box of tissues to Michelle as they sit down on the couch together._

_Michelle swipes one from the box, despite her eyes only a little damp, no tears flowing. “Don’t patronize me, Brant. I didn’t come over for pity, I just...I need someone to tell me what to do.”_

_“Well, that someone certainly isn’t going to be me, nor is it going to be my husband.”_

_“No. No, someone has to. I clearly can’t…I freaked out, Betty. Over nothing,” she mutters, picking some lint off of her pants._

_Betty shakes her head, giving Michelle’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Not nothing. You were nervous, and rightfully so. Marriage is a huge topic, and you guys haven’t even been together for a year yet.”_

_“But he thinks that I don’t want to get married to him specifically, and I don’t—I don’t know how to prove that it...it’s not about him. Not like that.”_

_“You love Peter, right?” Betty looks at her like she already knows the answer, which has Michelle swallowing the initial feeling of nerves. There’s no doubt in her mind, no question about it._

_“Yeah, I do,” she says, pressing her lips together._

_“And that boy obviously loves you, too,” Betty continues. “Which is why, if you’re serious about this, you guys need to have a conversation.”_

_Michelle raises a brow. “He didn’t talk to me the entire ride home.”_

_“Well.” She rolls her eyes. “You two are grown-ass adults. He can’t ignore you forever, and you can’t ignore him.”_

_“But—”_

_Betty interrupts her, expression serious. “MJ. If you want your relationship to survive—if you want this as bad as you say you do, then you have to try. Even if you think he’s going to let you down.”_

_“If we can’t work it out…” Michelle trails off, twisting the black dahlia ring on her finger, the ghost of Peter’s touch still lingering._

_“At least you’ll know you tried your best. But if you can work it out, if you trust yourself...trust him, then it’ll be worth it. You’ll be happier than ever before, MJ. Believe me.”_  
  


* * *

  
“You look so gorgeous, MJ,” Betty mutters as she puts the finishing touches on her hair, scattering little flowers throughout her curls and setting them with spray.

Michelle reddens slightly, offering a tiny grin in response while smoothing down the fabric of her wedding dress—the one she’d picked out with the help of May. 

Very bohemian, very chic. 

Very Michelle.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Betty. Thank you for getting up at this hell hour to help me get ready.”

Betty merely smirks, shaking her head. “Well, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t help you and Peter indulge in this equally dumb yet genius idea of getting married at this time of day?”

Michelle winces slightly. “I told him that people wouldn’t want to get up this early, but he’s literally the cheesiest person I’ve ever met.”

“MJ, if there’s ever a time to truly be self-indulgent, it should be on your wedding day above all else.” She pauses. “Besides, you love the cheesiness. I know you do.”

“Well, I don’t...hate it.”

“You love it,” Betty repeats, unabashed, and maybe she’s right.

Maybe Michelle will always be willing to put up the romantic gestures if they’re done by her absolute sap of a fiancé, soon to be husband.

The thought of that makes her heart skip a beat.

“I’m getting married,” she exhales, like saying it out loud will make it feel more real than it already is. 

“Hell, yeah, you are.” Betty claps her hands together before offering Michelle the bouquet of black dahlias, if only to match the ring that still hangs right above her heart. “It’s time to do this, Jones.”

“I guess it is.”

Michelle glances out the window, out towards the grassy field lit up with lanterns that eventually lead to the pier. She swallows thickly and has half a mind to wonder if those are the nerves she’s starting to feel.

Betty places a hand on her arm, wearing a smile of encouragement. “You sure you’re ready? Because, you know, there’s always time to pull the runaway-bride act.”

“I would’ve had to plan that years ago,” she snorts, certain that she wouldn’t want to run away from Peter. Not now, maybe not ever. “It’s too late now. He’s attached.”

“Okay,” Betty agrees with a small laugh, that being all the confirmation she needed. “Then I’ll see you out there.”

Once Michelle is left alone in the dressing room, she takes a deep breath for a count of one, two, three.

Releases it.

And starts making her way out of the building, through the grassy field. 

The end of the pier is lit up by lanterns, a nice glow surrounding everyone, reflected off the water beneath them. 

Michelle can hear the music in the background, the quiet murmurs of everyone around, but she’s focused on one person and one person only. He’s staring back at her with this look that she’s never seen before.

This look of awe mixed with a helpless kind of love.  
  


* * *

  
_“For the record, we’re never doing this again,” Michelle says over her shoulder as she crawls into the cab first, Peter going in after her. “And I’m not letting you watch any more rom-coms. We don’t need all these bad ideas getting into your head.”_

_“Listen, Wedding Crashers? That was comedy gold,” Peter responds, cracking a smile at the way she rolls her eyes. “And it wasn't a completely bad idea! Sure, we knocked over a chocolate fountain—”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“Sure, I knocked over a chocolate fountain,” he corrects, buckling his seatbelt. “But I think everything else turned out okay.”_

_More than okay, if he’s being honest._

_Peter wouldn’t trade the events of this wedding for anything._

_Michelle blushes as she stares at him, her smile small and sincere, a contagious thing. He finds himself mirroring it when she eventually slides into the middle seat instead of on the far side, their arms now brushing._

_A comfortable silence ensues for most of the ride home, and Peter isn’t really sure what to do with himself other than look around and think._

_Looking around leads to his gaze finding Michelle, almost like a magnetism, and thinking leads to remembering the way she held him, the way they slow-danced, the way they kissed._

_Peter really, really likes her._

_And she really likes him._

_It feels kind of hard to believe, but at the same time, he couldn’t be happier because this is Michelle._

_He’s falling in love with his best friend._

_“Why are you looking at me like that?”_

_Michelle’s voice comes out hushed, expression curious and eyes imploring, lips curved ever so softly in a rare smile that he’s noticed she reserves only for him. And she wonders why he’s looking at her like that?_

_Peter’s gaze doesn’t waver, not even as he brings one of her hands up, brushing his lips against it, a featherlight kiss._

_“This is just how I look at you.”_  
  


* * *

  
It’s not just a saying.

It’s a feeling, having your breath taken away.

Peter sincerely doubts that he’s truly experienced it until this moment—the moment his eyes had caught Michelle coming down the aisle, the breeze blowing around her in a way that almost makes it seem planned.

The music starts to fade in the background, but he barely notices—can’t hear anything except the beat of his heart and the whisper of her name inadvertently escaping his lips.

Michelle tucks an errant curl behind her ear once she reaches the end of the pier, revealing a small smile that’s hidden from everyone except him. She takes his hands, and he swallows thickly, letting the warmth of her skin ground him.

This is real.

This is their wedding.

“Friends and family,” the officiant begins. “We are gathered here today to commemorate the joining of Peter Parker and Michelle Jones.”

Peter can’t help but smile softly at those words, Michelle squeezing his hands at the same time, breathing out a quiet laugh. Everything else feels like it’s melting away when he looks at her, like they’re the only two people here.

Michelle’s lips quirk slightly as she gives the officiant a side-glance, him continuing to ramble on and on, saying much more than what’s necessary. Her small eye-roll doesn’t escape Peter, and he snorts.

Louder than he’d meant to.

While the officiant looks startled, Michelle looks delighted, eyes widening at first before crinkling at the corners to match her unabashed smile.

It never ceases to amaze Peter how such a little action from her can make him fall in love again and again, now and always.

And, finally, the officiant announces that it’s time for the vows.

“Michelle,” he says, hearing the tenderness in his own voice. “It’s hard to even begin explaining how I feel about you. You’ve gone from a stranger to one of my best friends to...the love of my life. I promise that I’ll always try to be a worthy husband to you, that I’ll support you through anything and everything. I promise that even on the bad days, I will not abandon you. I will not ignore you. I’ll make sure to always be there for you. You’re very much stuck with me. I promise that whatever the future brings...my vows to you will never, ever go null and void. You own my heart, Em, and I love you...so much.”

Peter releases the long breath he’d been holding in order to get all of that out, and he has the chance to see Michelle swipe a thumb over her wet cheek, wearing a watery smile.

“Peter,” she murmurs, exhaling out a quiet sigh. “You once told me that weddings were our thing, and I guess they really are. When we first met, I had no idea you were going to be one of the most important people in my life, but look at us now. I had doubts at first about marriage, but you taught me that strength and trust are the key to any working relationship. You taught me that marriage is a risk worth taking when it’s with the right person. I could promise you so many things, Peter, but when it comes down to it...I promise to cherish every minute, every second of what we have now and what our future holds for the rest of my life. Because this? This is...everything to me.”

His vision is blurring as he looks at her, sees her in such a beautiful light, the most honest and truest reflection of who Michelle Jones is.

Peter takes the wedding band, the weight of what it stands for just as heavy as the first ring he’d ever given her, and slips it on Michelle’s slender finger.

Michelle, in turn, smiles and holds his hand in hers with such delicacy, such gentleness. He feels so loved as she slides his wedding band on with care.

All that’s left is to seal the promise with those two words.

And they do.

Maybe it was always bound to happen.

“With the power vested in me...I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may _finally_ kiss the bride.”

As the sun slowly rises above the horizon, reflecting across the rippling water, Peter ever so softly presses his lips against Michelle’s. While knowing that nothing and yet, at the same time, _everything_ has changed, he thinks, _yeah_.

They were inevitable.  
  


* * *

  
_Michelle keeps casting occasional glances over at him, yet she can’t quite hold his gaze when he finds her eyes, something soft behind them that’s nearly impossible to comprehend._

_Peter is a mystery._

_As he occupies the seat that used be Brad’s, she can’t help but wonder what it is he sees in her that constitutes the friendship he claims they have._

_Because he doesn’t know her._

_And she doesn’t know him._

_Yet, here he is, offering his kindness—offering to help carry the burden of Michelle’s problems on his shoulders when she’s sure he has his own life to deal with._

_Is this just a temporary thing?_

_“Peter,” she prompts after a minute of silence, risking a glance at him, only to find his eyes already on her. He hums, a signal for her to go on. “Did you really mean what you said earlier?”_

_“About helping you with your job? Yeah of course,” Peter says, his smile as genuine as it could be. “I wouldn’t lie about that, MJ.”_

_“Actually...I was referring to when you said you thought we could be friends forever,” Michelle clarifies, lowering her gaze, suddenly invested in the tabletop. “I was just curious if you meant that.”_

_“Did you...want me to mean that?”_

_Michelle shakes her head, releasing a short chuckle that she quickly cuts off. “I was just wondering, Peter. You keep calling us friends now, but I’m trying to gage how long it’s going to last.”_

_Peter swallows, looking down at the glass in his hands. “I’ll be around as long as you want me to be, MJ. Friendships don’t have a set time limit. Forever is plausible.”_

_“Forever isn’t plausible. At least, not with someone you barely know. We’re essentially strangers.”_

_“Strangers can easily become something more with just a conversation,” Peter responds, gaze flicking down. “You just have to talk to me.”_

_“You first.”_

_“Fine,” he says, eyes shining with amusement while his lips release a breath of exasperation. “Let’s start with the basics. I’m Peter Parker.”_

_“Michelle Jones,” she replies, lips quirking ever so slightly._

_They shake hands, a proper introduction._

_Peter Parker is a mystery._

_But Michelle wouldn’t be opposed to learning more._  
  


* * *

  
The sun is casting shadows around everyone and everything by the time they make it to the venue, a blinding thing that makes Michelle wonder what made them think it was a good idea to have the reception outside.

But as she slow-dances with her husband, the rising light glowing like a halo around his head, she thinks that maybe it’s not so bad.

Michelle can’t imagine being here with anyone else, can’t imagine dancing with anyone else.

Can’t imagine getting married to anyone else.

Peter murmurs his love language in her ear, saying what he thinks and how he feels with no barriers. Always diving in head first, willing to drown for her. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to this feeling.

But she knows she’ll never get tired of it—the sensation of being loved to the fullest.

“MJ,” Peter whispers, eyes lidded and expression dazed, as if he’s a mixture of blissfully happy and exhausted. Knowing him, he probably didn’t get any sleep. “Did you see that they got the chocolate fountain set up?”

“You better not go near that, Peter, I swear. I’m wearing white today,” she warns, receiving a small grin and a press of his lips to her shoulder in response.

“I would never get chocolate on your wedding dress, wifey.”

The high of hearing that word slip from tongue is something that hasn’t worn off yet—won’t for a very, very long time.

“Of course not. We wouldn’t want you to be sleeping on the couch during our honeymoon, husband.”

“Hell, no. Our couch is shit,” he mumbles, resting his head against the crook of her neck. “For the record, I’m not falling asleep here. I’m just...caffeine _sucks_.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

“No—this is our first dance, Em. We can’t quit in the middle.”

“Peter,” Michelle murmurs, lifting his head ever so slightly to look him in the eyes. “We can postpone this dance for another time. Maybe when you don’t look dead on your feet.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Don’t think I’ll just let this go. You owe me a dance, Parker,” she tells him, and his expression softens into a familiar look as they make their way off the center floor.

Maybe it just means they’ll forever be in a cycle of falling in love with each other over and over again.  
  


* * *

  
_Peter doesn’t know how or why he’s the last one remaining in the venue, everyone else having left not only him but a big mess behind. He doesn’t have the time to ponder which aspects are his problem and which aren’t._

_He just wants to go home._

_His feet are almost out the door, suit jacket already pulled over his shoulders and keys in hand, when someone appears in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere._

_“What the—geez, you scared me,” Peter exclaims, shaking his head._

_Michelle—he hasn’t forgotten her name just yet—offers him a wry smile. “Sorry. I just...remembered that I forgot something. I was afraid that this place was locked up already, but…”_

_“But here I am. It’s your lucky day.” He makes an exaggerated gesture with his arms, letting her slip through the door. She makes a beeline for the bar, finding whatever it is that she left._

_“I got it. Um, thank you for...letting me through,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck._

_“Yeah. I mean, you seemed like you were in a rush earlier to leave, so...I’m not surprised that you forgot something,” Peter says and immediately thinks that that came out extremely passive-aggressive. Asshole._

_Michelle nods, looking down. “Something came up back at home. Harry let me leave early.”_

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t...I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I just—I’m pretty sure the highlight of my night was talking with you. Everything else…”_

_“If it’s any consolation, I think that goes both ways,” she tells him, and when he takes a good look at her, he realizes how tired she looks._

_“Are you okay?”_

_“Are you?”_

_“I will be,” he offers, and she nods._

_“Same here.” Michelle scuffs the floor with her shoe, hands shoved in her pockets. “For the record, I would have danced with you, Peter. You know...out of the kindness of my heart.”_

_Peter, despite everything, finds himself smiling at her—at this girl he can barely see in the dimly lit venue._

_There’s something about her._

_He doesn’t know what, not yet, but he thinks he’d be more than willing to find out._

_“Well. I think it’s safe to say that if we ever cross paths again, you owe me a dance, Michelle.”_

_They shake on it._

_And Peter has the feeling that he’ll be seeing her again someday in the future._

_In his future._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was that! Ahhh, I’m honestly proud of this story, and I’m really going to miss writing it. 
> 
> thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I made a tumblr! [@coykoii](http://coykoii.tumblr.com/) feel free to chat with me on there! :)


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